Conversion
by PotterAnon
Summary: GinnyDraco. When Draco's parents are killed by Voldemort, Ginny is suddenly there. How in hell can this possibly work? COMPLETE. First in the 'Conversion' series.
1. And You're Welcome

_Disclaimer: You know the deal, if I had come up with Harry Potter, d'you really think I'd be publishing for free on the Internet? No profit, no presumption to take credit._

* * *

**And You're Welcome**

Taking her usual place at the Gryffindor table and helping herself to three liberally-syruped pancakes, Ginny glanced down the table. The day had arrived crisp and cold this morning, pewter grey clouds swirling mercilessly across the ceiling of the Great Hall. With its usual swooping roar, the post arrived. A hysterical Pigwigeon tumbled onto the table in front of her, a note in his tiny beak.

_Ginny,_ it read, after she ripped it open,

_Tell your brothers later: Narcissa Malfoy is dead. So is Lucius. You all should know; it won't be in the Prophet for days._

_Love always,_

_Mum and Dad._

Ginny frowned, and looked up across the hall towards the Slytherin table, numbness sliding into her stomach. Her eyes sought out Draco Malfoy's haughty eagle owl. It soured complacently around above the table.

Malfoy's parents? Dead? How did it happen? How could it have? They supported You-Know-Who, didn't they? How could they have been killed, with all the protection the Dark Arts afforded? There was only one explanation. He'd killed them. Murdered them.

She spotted the silver blond head of Malfoy, smirking into his cereal, the owl landed unobtrusively onto Draco's shoulder. He ignored it.

Ginny's stomach squirmed. Why wasn't he opening his letter? Malfoy's attention was, evidently, else where, but soon he relented, ripped the message from the owl, throwing him a small handful of cereal. She watched acutely pained for some unknown reason, as she saw the icy exterior of Malfoy's face split, and a frown etch the middle of his forehead. He peered at the envelope.

Ginny watched him, swallowing. Malfoy got to his feet, waving several other rising Slytherin's away, and strode from the hall, breaking open the letter in a shower of angry sparks.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was on her feet and out of the door, sprinting down the stone steps and down over the lawns on Malfoy's heels. She slowed, hovering a short distance away.

Malfoy came to rest against a tree, leaning his back against it. For all his worry, he looked just as he always did, arrogant and pompous, his leg bent back, resting his heel on the trunk. Then, as he scanned the page, shivering in the wind before him, as if a great hand had slammed him into the ground, he crumpled.

Ginny broke into a run.

He sat there, stricken. She could see it in his face, snow white and frozen in horror. His knees had sunk into the muddy ground, his robes streaked with dirt. His hands were shaking, and she could see him furiously blinking back tears, fighting a flood of grief and despair. Boiling over, he leapt to his feet, smacked his fist into the tree trunk and sunk his foot into the bark, hammering on the branches. With a look of such cold, pure hatred and loathing, Malfoy saw her, hovering, meters away. She could see he was furious she had seen his outburst. He stood there, panting and breathing heavily, eyes dry as a bone, anger flaring behind silver irises.

She said nothing as his chest settled, his frown eased, his jaw tightened.

"S'pect you've heard, Weasley?" he spluttered out, spit raining over the already sodden grass. "S'pect you're right happy, aren't you?"

She remained silent, staring at him as he glowered back at her.

"Well? Aren't you?" he yelled. "Aren't you dead pleased? His parents got what was coming to them! They deserved everything they got! Aren't you ecstatic?"

"They might have deserved it, Malfoy," she said, more calmly than she could have ever anticipated, "but you did not deserve this."

He glared quizzically at her, seething. Eventually his jaw slackened, and he sunk to the ground again.

Ginny dropped next to him, not near enough to be within touching distance. Hostile, raging tears streamed from his grey eyes, hitting the ground un-importantly and turning his smooth face blotchy. His sobs became more and more violent, as if tiny bolts of power were jolting him repeatedly, hitting him over and over and over again, draining him. Ginny watched without words as his energy was exhausted, his anger being sucked out of him.

He looked up, not with anger but with anguish. "Why?" he croaked, pleadingly, water soaking his face. Ginny moved within his periphery timidly, until she was opposite him. She bent her head very close to his, and for a second a terrified look of shock lit his features. He thought she was going to kiss him. Did she really appear that heartless? Instead, she opened her arms to him, and let him fall into them, as she had never expected him to.

He cried into her shoulder for going on half the morning. She didn't move, and said little to him. As soon as he released her, having heard the bell signalling the start of second lesson, she stood up, and retreated across the lawn. Half way there, a hand closed on her elbow.

Malfoy glared at her. "Ginny, I..." he swallowed. "Thanks."

Ginny just nodded, and turned back to the castle. The grip on her arm tightened. She looked at him again.

"If you tell anyone--"

"You'll kill me," she supplied. "I know. And you're welcome."

* * *

**Alone:**

_"Draco was beside himself with rage."_

_Reviews please!_


	2. Alone

_A/N: It's strange how having someone's outside influence can be a great motivator. For example, my one and only reviewer suggested that another chapter to And You're Welcome might be good, and now I have a sudden uncontrollable urge to form some semblance of a plot, and continue the story._

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**Alone**

Draco was beside himself with rage.

For the last several hours, he'd been preoccupied with wild, uncontrollable, strangely dislocated thoughts, and none of them made much coherent sense. And those that did caused him so much pain to think about that he quickly discontinued - better die in peaceful ignominy than live in agonising understanding.

That was what he wanted more than anything - understanding. An understanding to his parents' demise. An understanding to his mingled feelings of grief and terror and release. An understanding of what would happen now that they were gone, what would happen to him? An understanding as to why, when this had always been has best and easiest subject, as to why he was having so much difficulty getting his Eau de Bultubex to thicken.

He stared glumly and detachedly into his cauldron, watching thick, rubbery bubbles swell and burst across its surface. When a bubble burst, it's formally pink-ish tint would spill yellowish slime into the same pot, effectively adding this new creation back into its own juices. It was now the consistency of stringy soup - it was meant to be tar.

And then there was the matter of the Weasley girl to deal with. He realised, suddenly, that she was not quite the person he expected her to be. She cared - it appeared genuinely - about what had happened to his parents, and she had a power to see things the others couldn't. She alone seemed to see the inner turmoil their deaths had created for him.

He'd been shaken horribly by the news of his parents' death, he admitted that much to himself. It represented a lifetime of beliefs and views going up in smoke.

Potions ended. It was the end of the day now, and he detested the idea of returning to the Slytherin common room. Slinging his bag onto his back, he slipped from the classroom before either Crabb or Goyle could catch up with him. He headed for the library - because of the greater chance of bumping into Granger there, he tended to avoid it. Those knuckle-headed tree-trunks had about as much chance of thinking to look for him there as being nominated for the "Worst Accomplished and Intelligent Witch or Wizard Award" in Dodgebin's Sophisticated Sorcery magazine.

Pulling down a random, potion-related reference book from one of the top-most shelves, Draco seated himself behind it in a far corner of the library, in one of those un-necessarily comfortable chintz armchairs that Dumbledore was so fond of.

He didn't see the words on the page, or the gruesome moving images of torturous potions gone wrong. He didn't notice the darkening windows or the quiet calm of the place. He heard, over and over again, the wails of screams of two people he'd thought this never could have happened to...

"But you spoke to him?"

"No, I told you, all I saw was him leaving the Great Hall. I went to the bathroom, that's all."

"Right. So where did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

Draco's reverie was broken harshly by two hushed voices, floating from behind a nearby bookcase. He sunk lower into his chair and strained to listen.

"About his parents."

"Mum and Dad let me know. They got it from the Order, knew it wouldn't be in papers for a month at least. Wait, how did you find out?"

It was Ginny Weasley. He felt a painfully tight constriction in his chest as he heard her voice. She was going to tell someone, he just knew it. Her little Muggle-loving mouth was going to send his life into a spiral of shame and weakness.

"McGonagall told me. She's been giving me all the information she can, seeing as I'm the last hope for the Wizarding World and all..."

Draco ground his teeth - he'd just recognised the second voice, and realised it was none other than the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter, son of a Mudblood, bane of his life. Potter was far from bragging though - he sounded bitter.

"I know I've got to do this, Gin, I just can't see how the hell I'm going to manage it. We've had no luck with anything we've been trying so far, no leads, no clues..."

"Don't worry, Harry," Ginny said softly, as they wandered past the end of Draco's row. He saw, with a sudden forceful surge of unidentifiable emotion, that she had her hand resting on Potter's back. "You'll do it. It's just going to take some time. Maybe you should have a break. Go to Hogsmead next week, keep your ears open, do some watching for a change instead of doing."

Potter nodded reluctantly. "You're probably right."

"Of course I am," she said blithely, smiling. "Now sod off, go find my brother. I've got work to do, and you've got to go work out what you're going to do next week in Hogmeade."

Potter nodded obediently, and left, hands in his pockets. He ducked his head behind his potion book.

"Ears burning, Malfoy?"

He dropped the book onto his lap. Ginny Weasley was watching him, her face emotionless, a hand on her hip.

"Don't remember asking you to speak to me, Weasel," he said, glaring at her.

"That's good, I don't remember being asked," she replied. "Besides, you normally don't ask, you tell."

"I tend to get a much prompter response from telling."

"You'll tend to get a much me painful response from me, Malfoy. And it probably only worked before because you hang around with two brainless idiots who can't think for themselves. Mind you, with an ego the size of yours, your enormous head's probably got enough brains for all three of you."

"At least it evens out for us. You Dumbledore's Army people haven't got enough sense to make one moderately intelligent person. Except maybe Granger, but it was probably some genetic mutation from being such a filthy Mudblood."

"You really ought to come up with a new insult, Draco," she said haughtily. "You've used that one so often that it has very little effect anymore."

Draco may have looked like he was livid with anger, but inside he was happier than he'd been since he'd received his news. This was what he needed - no examining feelings, no analysing his own inner-workings, just trying to get one over on the other side.

"About as much effect as you're having on making me care," he snapped.

Ginny didn't reply, and he couldn't read her expression. If he was to hazard a guess - and he hated guessing - he would have put it half way between amusement and condescension. The thought of the latter appalled him. Who was she to look at him as if he was insignificant?

Weasley turned on her heel, and was halfway back down the line towards the end of the row when Draco found himself suddenly on his feet.

"Don't turn you're back on me, Blood Traitor!"

Ginny eyed his hands, which had balled into fists. He was aware he was breathing heavily, his hand hovering near his wand.

"Blood Traitor now is it?" she said loftily. "Good, I could do with a new angle. What would that make you then?"

"I'm the only one you should ever be taking orders from," he spat, "not that weakling Potter! I'm the pure blood here!"

He thought he saw a glint of something behind her blue-green eyes.

"Oh yeah? And what would you be ordering me to do, Draco, eh? Give a damn?"

He fumed as she spun and stalked out of the library, clearly showing her back to him. He stood, collecting himself. What the hell had that been? The only one she should be taking orders from? Where had that come from?

Draco eased himself back into his chair. He needed to clear his head, to gain some perspective. Where had all that rubbish he'd been yelling come from? Unfortunately he didn't have much time to consider it - evidently attracted by the noise they'd been making, Madam Pince bustled over, growling, and told him to get out. He was too confused to argue greatly, and left without too much fuss.

* * *

He found Crabb and Goyle in the common room later. He had already informed them of his parents' death. They had been even less talkative than usual since then, at a loss of what to say. He was glad they hadn't found anything - the incident in the library had been a helpful reminder that they just weren't the sort of people to have any sort of conversation with if you could possibly avoid it.

His argument with Ginny Weasley was what mainly occupied his mind during that evening, even with the other activities going on in the room. There was a game of poker going on in the corner of the room - a game at which he usually excelled, but tonight couldn't find the time for. For a change, people were leaving him well alone. Usually there was a reasonable amount of store put by what he said, but tonight people were steering well clear of him. As a result it was easy to let his mind wander.

Ginny had given him the nearest thing to a normal experience since his owl that morning. And despite himself and his own revulsion at the thought, he couldn't stop thinking about that morning under the tree by the lake, when he had, for the first time in his life, been held by someone with care who was not his mother. The thought of his mother brought up a sharp feeling of being about to vomit to his throat, and he swallowed hard.

"I'm going to bed," he said angrily, and headed for the small flight of stairs leading down to his dormitory.

The room was pleasantly cool, in contrast to the warm common room, and he reached his bed quickly. He changed and drew the green hangings violently around his dark-wood bed, glaring without focus.

He'd loved his mother dearly. His father not so much. True enough, he'd been perfectly fond of his father, but he hadn't felt the same bond as he did for his mother. He'd have gladly given his own life to save his mother, but his father? His father was merely a method of advancement, of funds, and of smugness when encountering other people. It was his mother's wish that he attend Hogwarts instead of Durmstang, his mother's gifts that gave him his penchant for potions, his mother's face that flitted his front of his teary eyes now as he lay awake. He was on his own now. No mother to love and care for him, no father to safe-guard him and his future. His friends—

He didn't really think he could call them friends. They were usefully placed associates at best. None of them knew, or would mourn his parents with him. None would help look after his interests. None would have held him the way Ginny did...

If the same thing had happened to Ginny, would she be where he was? No. She'd be in McGonagall's office, being told personally, being surrounded and comforted by goodness-knows how many brothers and relations, by Granger, by Potter...

Potter. The image of Ginny's hand on Potter's back came back to him and hit him with a force equal to ten fists in his gut. Longingly he wished for her hand to be on his back now, to have her warmth and comfort again, like his mother used to do when he grazed his knee and his father wasn't watching.

He turned over viciously, tightening his sheets around him. He was stronger than that, wasn't he? He didn't need that, did he? He forced himself to calm his mind and try to sleep. But he could feel his sheets wrapping around his shoulders, and couldn't resist the temptation to imagine a warm, freckled arm surrounding him in its place.

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_Okay, that's it. Let me know what you think please, should I carry on with this now? I'm not sure. For a start, I don't know where this is going. Any suggestions?_


	3. Up Bringing

**Up-Bringing**

It was raining. Though this was hardly an unusual occurrence in the middle of autumn, Ginny was particularly irked by it today because the Hogsmeade weekend had crept up on her, and it was still drizzling even as she walked out of the castle gates and along the muddied lane towards the village.

She was immersed deep in thought, contemplating, of all people, Draco Malfoy.

As hard as she'd tried, the proximity she'd had to Malfoy when he'd realised his parents' deaths had not failed to penetrate her. She'd tried to keep from comparing, but she couldn't - there was no stopping her mind wandering to a similar situation, where her parents had been the ones never, ever coming home again, and she wasn't going to pretend that she didn't have an increasing amount of information whizzing around inside of her head. For a start, they wouldn't have died at the hands of a person meant to be protecting them.

They'd have died fighting for every single witch and wizard to have quailed under Voldemort's rule. They'd have died knowing that every person who mattered to them loved them unconditionally. They'd have died standing up, with a wand in their hands, not cowering, begging for mercy...

Where was Draco now? Wait, since when had she been referring to him as Draco, instead of 'That Little Ferret Malfoy'? Was he alright? Not that she cared, but he would be even more vicious if he was dealing with this badly. She wondered vaguely whether anyone other than Draco would miss Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. She doubted it.

Did he have any other family? Maybe. She didn't expect she'd like any of them. She frowned, thinking of how Malfoy must have grown up, having his every whim pandered to, always getting what he wanted, always having his parents to buy him things, his father to smirk proudly when he punished his first house elf for disobedience, or his mother to coo when he stepped into his primary school uniform.

She'd not arranged to meet anyone in the village, mainly because she hadn't really been aware that she was going to go. She'd just woken up that morning, realised the entrance hall was packed, and decided pretty much on a whim that it might distract her: her mind had been irritatingly full of the scowling, blond-haired Slytherin boy since she'd found out about his parents.

Pulling her cloak around her, she wandered along the street in the village, looking obtusely through foggy glass windows. Eventually, when she couldn't feel her fingers or toes anymore, she slunk out of the bitter wind and into a tiny, dimly-lit teashop at the end of the lane nearest the Shrieking Shack.

It looked very much like a pub, but did not appear to sell anything vaguely alcoholic. The red walls were tall, stretching up to a lofty ceiling under which several dozen live fairies seemed to be zooming happily around.

"Can I get you a drink?" asked a slim, dark-haired witch in short, ruby-coloured robes. She smiled a wide smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Ginny immediately disliked her.

"Tea, hot, plenty of sugar," she said brightly, taking in the name on the witch's small golden tag: "Camilla". Camilla plastered her grin back onto her face.

"Coming up, take a seat."

Ginny glanced around the room, and immediately noticed something she had not when she first came in - there were an unusually large number of boys lining the walls, watching the waitress. Smirking, Ginny looked back to her. Evidently she had missed what was so attractive about the skinny, fake-smiling woman.

Shaking her head, she disappeared into a corner, sitting down out of reach of what little light there was. It was warm in here - slightly warmer than she would have liked, she thought, pulling off her cloak and jacket.

From across the room she noticed Dean and Seamus lounging across their chairs. She smiled again, as Camilla sauntered over with a pot of steaming black coffee, and tittered at them for putting their feet up on the seats. They sprung to attention and sat up at once, nearly knocking over her tray.

The bell on the door jingled merrily, and Ginny glanced over. Draco Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had just entered, the former being led, for a change, by the other two. He looked decidedly unhappy. Not surprising though it is, she told herself, considering.

When asked what they wanted, she was surprised when either Crabbe or Goyle (she wasn't sure which) said, "Usual, Cam." They must be regulars, she mused, watching Crabbe and Goyle sit down, their eyes on Camilla. Malfoy fixed his eyes on the table's surface, but Ginny could tell he wasn't remotely concerned with it.

Camilla returned almost straight away with a tray, laden with two coffee mugs and a tea, along with a pot of cream and a sugar bowl. Annoyance stabbed at her - she'd been here first, after all. Camilla perched next to Draco, a little too close for Ginny's liking, and her smile no longer so false. She watched her tilt in and mutter something to Malfoy. He frowned and shook his head, mumbling. Crabbe and Goyle were watching hungrily the hem of the waitresses' robes on her thigh.

Camilla nudged Malfoy with her elbow, playfully flicking her dark hair forward and blinking in an over-exaggerated manner. Malfoy shuffled and snapped more harshly, but she wasn't deterred. She put a hand on his arm.

"Nothing!" she heard him growl at her. "Don't you have work to do or something?"

Ginny stood up, compulsively opened her shirt collar wider and adjusted her jeans, then strode across the room. As she approached, shaking her hair off her face, Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy's eyes all widened slightly, looking up.

"Hey," she said loudly, putting a hand on her hip as she had in the library several days before. Draco's eyes flashed. Camilla turned, her smile vanishing. "I'm still waiting on that tea."

The witch looked torn between fury and embarrassment. She settled on fury, but huffed away, looking very peeved. Ginny looked back to the others.

Malfoy was openly staring at her. Crabbe and Goyle were glaring, plainly angry beyond words. Draco, though, lifted his chin. "Thanks," he said, sarcastically. Ginny met his gaze, and was greeting with genuine gratitude. Crabbe and Goyle appeared not to notice.

Ginny pulled a look of nonchalance onto her face, raising her eyebrow. "I just wanted my tea," she said coldly, and she went back to her seat. She felt Draco's eyes on her all the way across the hardwood floor, but she didn't sit. Instead, she grabbed up her clock and jacket, slung them over her arm, just as Camilla emerged with a tea pot on a tray.

"You know what? Don't worry about it," she called. "I've just realised I've got somewhere to be," she added, only glancing back at Malfoy when she was on her way out of the door. He was smirking.

She was in the process of jerking her coat back over her shoulders out in the chilly street when she heard a shout. Spinning around, tugging her collar into a more comfortable position, she saw Malfoy walking quickly towards her, the wind buffering his hair into his eyes.

Drawing herself up, she stood stock-still and let him approach her. His face wore a look halfway between amusement and-- was that nervousness? Not likely, she told herself, but there was almost definitely something uncomfortable about the way Malfoy drew up near her.

"I told the others I was going to tell you off for chasing Camilla away," he said bossily. "Come with me."

She gave him a look that plainly said 'Why in hell should I?' and he glanced desperately towards the teashop.

"Just come on, will you? I don't have much time," and he grabbed her around the elbow, dragging her up the lane and towards the path that led to the Shrieking Shack.

* * *

Ginny sat easily on the fence around the broken down building, watching Malfoy's feet shuffling in the slippery ground. She'd sat up there on purpose: it made her eyes on an even level with his.

"Well?" she said. "What d'you want Malfoy?"

"Shut up," he said. She glared at him. "Let me talk."

"Go on then."

He shot her a strange, strangled kind of look that she didn't really know the meaning of, and leant on the fence next to her. He stared at the ground for a long time, so Ginny decided that maybe she should start him off.

"How're you feeling anyway?" she said, careful to inject the right amount of irritation into her tone.

"What d'you care?" he sneered.

"More than you know, Draco. But mainly because I don't see as there's anyone else you can talk to."

"Of course there is," he spat, apparently disgusted at the thought that the only person he could talk to was a filthy Muggle-lover. But she heard the doubt in his voice.

"Yeah, right," she said sceptically, " 'Cause everyone in Slytherin is really sorry for your loss, right? They're all there with you at night, making sure you're tucked up nice and warm, pouring you tea, fluffing up your pillows."

He snorted. "Anyone tried that with me and I'd jinx them before they added the cream," he said. Ginny appreciated the fact he'd tried making a joke.

"I'm sure you would," she said, without patronisation.

"I don't need anyone looking after me," he said stubbornly. "I can take care of myself."

"Good," she said, and she knew that she was very likely to hit a nerve with what she said next, but she ploughed on. "Because you're going to have very little choice in the matter from now on."

But all he did was snort again.

"Really though," she said. "Have you got any family or anything? What're you going to do now?"

"I don't know," he said, and she heard sincerity for the first time yet. "I'm nearly of age, so I don't have to go to any of my family. When I leave Hogwarts I'll be seventeen anyway, so I can go back to the Manor on my own, I won't need a Guardian."

Ginny nodded.

"I might sell it," he said distantly.

"Why?"

"Because it wouldn't feel right," he said quietly. "Without them there."

Ginny didn't say anything. She was imagining Draco all alone, wandering Malfoy Manor with his footsteps echoing off far-flung marble walls.

"I can't understand how this happened," Malfoy burst out. "This wasn't meant to happen."

"How did they die?" Ginny asked, peering at Malfoy's profile, his hair whipped roughly back off his forehead.

"Tortured," he said shortly. "You-Know-Who thought they were with-holding information."

"Were they?"

"Undoubtedly. You-Know-Who always knows when there's something he's not being told."

"Hey," she said, suddenly realising something, "how come you're not calling him the Dark Lord anymore?"

Draco paused, then said uncertainly; "My parents' deaths have caused certain... beliefs of mine to be called into question."

"Like what?" she asked, curious.

"Everything I've ever known," he said bluntly. When she didn't respond, he elaborated. "My certainty of life has been shaken. When I was growing up, I always believed that my mother and father were right in saying that the Dark Arts gave us a power over people so strong that nothing could hurt us." Seeing her confused look, he tried to explain.

"According to them, it was because of the Dark Arts that Malfoy Manor, our riches, our distinction, our power, our influence in the magical word came down our family line to us. For generations my family has allied itself with the Dark Lord and Dark magic. They believed, as I did, that we were invincible."

"But you're not likely to be short of money, Malfoy. Your parents would have left everything to you, right?"

"Only someone as poor as you would put so much emphasis on money!" he snapped. "This isn't about fortune, Weasley. This is about... lack of faith, trust. I can't put trust in anything I'd ever heard from them anymore."

Ginny paused, then said, "You can put trust in me."

He gave her a sideways glance. "Maybe..." he murmured.

"And now," Ginny said, after a long silence, "for all that you've been taught, all you thought was true, you've been proved as vulnerable as anybody else. You're just as susceptible as anyone else is, just as open to pain and suffering. And at the hands of the very thing that was meant to offer you such concrete unwavering protection," Ginny said, looking at Draco's grey eyes. He nodded.

"It questions everything I've ever been taught," he said. "Everything I've ever learnt about the Wizarding World. If it's not true that we could some how dodge death and gain power by supporting You-Know-Who, what's to say that being Pure-Blood isn't the most important thing? Who's to say whether evil always has to win? That the best pleasure can be got from stamping on the people below me to get what I want? What?"

Ginny's smile had been gradually growing, and she didn't let it falter now.

"Nothing, it's just that..."

"What?" he repeated again.

"Well," she said, phrasing carefully, "have you ever actually tried, Draco, instead of stamping on people, getting a leg-up from them?"

Draco pulled a weirdly contorted face that seemed to indicate that he had not.

She laughed sharply. "Didn't think so somehow, Malfoy."

He looked at her for a moment.

"Draco," he said.

"What?"

"I preferred Draco."

"Oh," she said. "OK. Guess that makes me Ginny then."

For an instant, she thought she saw a faint smile flicker over Draco's pale lips. Then, before she had a chance to do anything, they heard a snapping twig coming up the path, and Draco had his wand on her.

"You come anywhere near me again, Mudblood-Lover, and I'll hex you from here to Africa!" Malfoy spat, loudly, and he flicked his wand at her. She felt the spell hit her in the chest and she was knocked off the fence and into a large, badly smelling puddle a few meters away, badly winded. She grabbed her own wand from her robe pocket.

"Don't even think about it, Weasel," Malfoy yelled, leaning on the fence. He turned around; a recently arrived Crabbe and Goyle cackling behind him as he stormed away. She wasn't letting him get away with humiliating her like that though.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" she yelled, and Malfoy froze, not by choice. His arms and legs snapped to his sides, and he fell over onto his nose. When Crabbe and Goyle made to charge after her, she glared at them. "Unless you want the same treatment, I'd back off, if I were you."

Apparently they took her word for it, because they didn't move.

Ginny walked straight over to Malfoy, and crouched over him. Too quiet for Crabbe and Goyle to hear, she said,

"You try anything like that again, Draco, and you'll be sneezing bats for a week," and she smeared a good quantity of stinking mud over his face, leaving four finger-streaked marks. Malfoy's eyes shone in his pale face, but she couldn't read their expression. "See you later."

* * *

All done. What d'you reckon? Any suggestions greatly appreciated. 


	4. Stepping In

**Stepping In**

Naturally, Malfoy was livid. Or at least, he appeared to be. In reality he was incredibly surprised at just how amusing he had managed to find the supposedly humiliating events of the previous day. Still though, he had lost face with his fellow Slytherins when they had learnt of Weasley's triumph. He decided to avoid her as much as possible, and exact revenge at the earliest opportunity.

He managed to stay completely out of her way over the rest of the weekend, but on Monday he had no choice but to leave the Slytherin dungeons and attend classes, and risked seeing her everytime he turned a corner. He had not been this internally unstable in as long as he could remember, a potent mix of the still smarting loss of his parents mingling with his uncertainty over Ginny Weasley, making him withdrawn and jumpy. He disliked being so out of control, and it was having an effect on his ability to concentrate in lessons.

He had been perfectly fine before his parents' deaths. True, there had been a certain chilliness to life, knowing that the rumour concerning his activities on the night of Dumbledore's death had been investigated, but no one really knew the truth about that night, besides Potter and his friends, and they'd told no one.

The three months since he'd watched that frail old man tossed from the roof of the Astronomy tower like a silver-haired rag doll had seemed like an eternity to Draco, and he had never discussed what had happened in the interim with anyone, nor was he about to start. Potter, his friends, and the Order of the Phoenix were keeping his activities just as quiet; letting the truth be known would lead to a lot of questions about how Draco had found his way back to Hogwarts, questions whose answers could be dangerous to him.

It was the Order who had saved him in the first place, though Draco was still not sure why they had bothered. He didn't expect he would ever find out.

"Mister Malfoy!" a voice snapped, dragging him from his thoughts. His eyes found those of Professor McGonagall, staring hawkishly down at him.

"Professor?" he queried, blinking at her.

"You've got five minutes to pack away, Malfoy, then fourth lesson," she repeated irritably. She'd been constantly irritable since Dumbledore's death. He nodded, bowing his head and muttering "Yes, Professor," in hushed tones, as the noises of the rest of the class scaping out their chairs to tidy up filled his ears.

He shoved his wand inside his robes and dropped his books into his bag after the lesson, then sat down again and waited for the bell in the corridors to ring so that the class could leave. The waiting, between moments of occupation, was the worst part of his day. There was never anything interesting enough to distract from regurgitating memories. At least not usually.

There was a knock at the door.

"Professor, if you're nearly done, can I have a word before the rest of the Gryffindor's arrive?" Draco's head snapped up, searching immediately for the source of the voice. It was Ginny Weasley, standing before McGonagall, a look of determination on her face.

McGonagall glanced around the room, then, deciding that she could spare the time while the seventh years were packing away, nodded to Ginny. Draco watched as Ginny took McGonagall by the elbow and retreated to a corner. He couldn't, from here, hear what was being said, but contented himself by watching the redhead's eyes glinting with the thin light seeping through the high windows.

Before long McGonagall and Ginny broke apart and the Professor dismissed the class. As Draco gathered his feet up under him, he felt a nudge at his side. Ginny was staring openly at him.

"What?" he asked.

"You're in my chair," she said. "C'mon, I haven't got all day."

"What were you talking to McGonagall about?" he asked, as he grabbed his bag and stood up.

"You," she said, with a slight smile. "But don't worry, you'll find out why soon enough. And it's nothing bad. Now, if you'll excuse me--"

She nodded pointedly at the chair he was standing in front of.

"Have it," he hissed, leaving the room.

Confusion did not begin to cover it. Why was Ginny talking to McGonagall about him anyway, and why wouldn't she tell him why? She'd said it was nothing bad, but he couldn't think of a single thing about him that McGonagall or any of the other teachers would find good. He sighed, and took off for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

* * *

Food hadn't tasted right since his Mother had died, and it continued to be nothing more than a way of marking the continuing passage of time for him as he sat down at the Slytherin table and spun his plate idly, staring blankly into his glass of pumpkin juice. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He was all too familiar with the sensation, which usually meant someone was watching him, and he turned away from his glass to glance around the room.

No one seemed to be looking at him. Not even Weasley, he thought, spotting her deep in conversation with another Gryffindor girl. Unfortunately he kept his gaze on her a little too long, and she looked up too. She blinked, then smiled briefly at him, before turning back to her friend. Malfoy suddenly found he was strangely envious of the blonde Gryffindor who held her attention.

He pulled his eyes away and forced himself to listen into the Slytherins' conversation, cursing himself for allowing his thoughts to wander unchecked towards, of all people, a Gryffindor. Except that he was, in his mind, finding very little resistance towards the entire house. His parents had always told him never to trust a Gryffindor, Gryffindors were weak, Gryffindors were the enemy. Then again, they'd also told him that the Dark Lord was so powerful that he could keep them safe and strong forever.

"Draco?"

He started, looking around to see Pansy Parkinson. "Hmm?"

"Where were you earlier? You were meant to meet me before lunch," she said huffily, crossing her arms across her chest.

"I... had other things on my mind," he said quietly. It was true; he had, but he had a feeling that if he told her his mind had been, once more, following the red-headed Gryffindor Ginny, he was probably not going to make it back to the Common Room in one piece.

Pansy didn't look satisfied with his response, but he refused to elaborate further, and started scooping strawberry ice-cream onto his plate in an effort to change the way the conversation was headed.

"I'd have thought you'd have enough to think about already, Draco," Pansy said icily. "What with one thing and another."

He didn't reply, perfectly aware that she was talking about his parents. He waited for her to offer him support, offer to listen if he wanted to talk about it. He knew she wouldn't, but he waited all the same. Suddenly, (and he was surprised by how slowly the thought had come to him) he realised that she had, in a heavily masked way, just used his parents' deaths in an effort to make him feel guilty about forgetting their meeting.

"You what?" he said dangerously. "What did you just say?"

Pansy's look of annoyance melted into one of hardened determination. "I don't understand," she simpered stonily.

"Like Merlin's beard you don't, Parkinson," he spat. He leaned forwards, eyes glittering, his fists balled tightly on the wooden table top. "Don't you _ever_," he hissed, "let me hear you say anything like that again. Do you understand?"

She nodded, a faintly frightened look in her eyes.

"Good," he growled. "Shall we go?" he added to the rest of the group around them. They all nodded in agreement, and he led them towards the Great Hall's doors, feeling strangely unfulfilled: usually telling off Parkinson - or anyone else for that matter - was a source of great pleasure to him. Oh yeah, he thought bitterly, I forgot - nothing's the same anymore.

He strode out into the Entrance Hall, his gang of Slytherins close behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw groups of students milling around the edges of the Hall, there were no teachers in sight. He felt it before he saw it.

Pansy, bitter perhaps after her telling off, had faltered in her tracks, her dull eyes pinned on the back of Granger's bushy brown head. Draco knew, by instinct, that something was about to happen. He could sense Pansy's body tense, her mind clicking, her frustration and anger with him bubbling under the surface.

"Granger!" she yelled, before he could fix enough of a glare on her to discourage her. "What did you think you were doing in Potions the other day?"

The girl turned around. Malfoy watched her face change from anxious curiousity to hardened resolution. Potter and Weasley snapped to attention behind her, but Malfoy knew that no amount of ease and politeness was going to put off Parkinson. She was set, and there was nothing they could do about it. If only she realised she was picking fights from nothing...

"Pardon?" Granger said lightly. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Ah, but that's pretty unusual for you, isn't it Muggle? Normally you've got an answer for everything!" Pansy cried. Draco heard the hostility in her tone, but he wasn't about to get in the way, not for Granger.

"Potions?" Granger repeated. "What exactly am I meant to have done? I haven't had Potions for a week."

"Your Eau de Bultubex," Pansy spat. "You made Draco look like an idiot."

His eyes widened involuntarily. "Pansy, leave me out of this..." he breathed quietly. He saw Granger's eyes flash at him, and Ron and Harry stiffen. Then, from the edge of his vision, he noticed Ginny staring at him, her eyes glinting with calm curiosity.

"You couldn't just leave it be, could you Mudblood? You had to go out of your way to show him up!" Pansy was really beginning to worry him now - what in Hell did she think she was going to achieve from this?

Granger smiled, a reaction he knew would further anger Parkinson. "It's not my fault if he was having difficulty with his Bultubex," she said. "I just did what the book said."

He glanced at Ginny, unable to help himself. She was looking at him intently.

"You went out of your way to make him look like he didn't have a clue," Pansy hissed. "Even though everyone knows he's the best brewer in our year!"

Ginny was still staring, but this time her gaze was so intense he found it difficult to look away. Her eyes were telling him, without words, Step in. Step in, stop her, she's making a fool of herself.

He blinked, and looked back to Pansy and Hermione Granger. Pansy was fuming, she was one wrong word away from erupting. He glanced at Granger's slightly worried expression, but saw her eyebrows lift a little bit.

He saw it then, as Ginny nodded towards the two girls, a look of encouragement on her face. He wanted nothing more at that second than to make her proud, fond...

He didn't even hear what Hermione replied. All he saw was Pansy's hand plunging inside of her robes towards her wand, but before she could mutter any spell, curse or incantation, he had his own wand out and it was training on her, on Pansy's astonished face.

"I told you," he hissed, "not to damn well bring me into this."

Pansy looked for a second like she had swallowed a very large, very sour lemon. Her eyes darted between Granger, himself, Potter, and the two Weasleys. Then she lowered her wand, and stalked off towards the Dungeons.

The crowd that had gathered began to disperse, muttering. Granger, Potter and Ginny's brother looked at him, stunned for a second, glanced at Ginny, then to him again, before turning up the marble staircase and climbing towards the Common Room. Eventually only a few stragglers remained to witness the extraordinary sight of Ginny Weasley crossing the Hall towards Malfoy.

She looked up at him, a faint smile on her face. After a very small hesitation, she raised her hand and patted him gently on the shoulder. His whole body was flushed with a strange warmth.

"Nice leg-up, Draco," she said, smiling at him.

He wasn't sure what to say. So he shrugged, trying and failing to repress a grin creeping onto his face. He watched her turn and follow the others, her hair shining in the candle light.

Gods, what was happening to him?he thought, as he wandered numbly back to the Dungeons, his smile still resolutely in place.

* * *

R & R please! 


	5. Restraints

**Restraints**

Sleep was incredibly difficult that night. Ginny lay, tossing and turning under her blankets as an un-necessarily boisterous storm buffeted the walls of the dormitory tower. What she wouldn't give to be rid of the disconcerting howling and tucked up nice and warm in a common room located in the dungeons and out of the wind. Much like the one Draco currently inhabited...

She hadn't expected Draco to respond to her. She'd thought he would have just slunk into the background and stayed there like a coward. Instead he had done something a lot more dangerous to him, and turned against his own. She should talk to him, and tell him how dangerous that sort of behaviour could be for him. He would be alienating seven year's worth of friends, companions and allies, and she had no doubt that he would regret doing so. She felt bad for pushing him to it.

Of course she was curious about Draco. He had, as far as she knew, been present, and participatory in the events leading up to and including Dumbledore's death. So why was he back at Hogwarts? What had happened in the time in between that made him worthy? Perhaps it was a story she'd get an answer to eventually. Maybe she'd even be able to get it from the person it chiefly concerned.

Ginny decided she would find out more about what had made Draco intervene earlier, and she would do it as soon as possible.

Even so, the knowledge of his sacrifice for, as she saw it, her and her friends, was unexpected, and worrying. She'd just about managed to make her piece with the idea that he had done it for her, because she had wanted him to. But that opened up a whole new load of wierd feelings for her - she wasn't sure she liked the idea of him liking her enough to do it. He couldn't like her. It wasn't... right. But even as she forced herself to try and find some other explanation for his actions, one that meant he didn't particularly like, didn't particularly interest her, a tiny little squeaky voice in the back of her head kept insisting that the only reason she didn't want to consider Draco liking her, was that she might also have to consider liking him back.

* * *

Ginny grabbed a stack of toast spread with jam and headed out into the grounds with it wrapped in a napkin on Saturday morning. The sun had reappeared from behind its shroud and was casting a thin light over the lawns, and warming her skin. She watched the crisp surface of the chilly water as a group of ducks landed in the shallows.

"Ginny?"

She turned, and smiled as she saw a slim, dull-blond haired girl approaching her. Luna grinned back, and slipped her arm into Ginny's.

"What's the matter, Gin?" she asked, frowning as they started walking around the edge of the lake, Luna stealing toast.

She shook her head.

"Nothing."

Luna paused, then said,

"I heard about the Entrance Hall."

"Who from?"

"Timmy Cornell. We were planting Cracklebolt Fizzers in the cabbage patch and he told me all about it."

"How much have you heard?" Ginny asked, ignoring Luna's characteristic extraneous information.

"Only that Draco Malfoy was pointing his wand at Pansy Parkinson, and that you were there. Then that someone saw you talking him. You should be careful around him, I think his family was cursed by the Defender of the Terrible Rampaging Pigmy-Puff in the seventeenth century."

Ginny sighed. "Yeah, I had a word," she said at last.

"What about?"

"What's with the Spanish Inquisition, Luna?"

But she just beamed. "You like this guy, don't you? I can tell by the way you wrinkle your nose when you talk about him. You used to do that with Harry. You've got it bad, Gin."

"I have not," she said quickly, before realising that she might as well give in then, and stick a huge 'I have a crush on Draco Malfoy' sign over her head. "Fine," she relented. "I might have a tiny, _tiny_," - she put her thumb and fore-finger together - "thing for him. But who wouldn't?" she exclaimed, surprising herself. "You can't deny he's... cute."

"Oh yes," Luna said contemplatively. But she shot Ginny a look of strange calculation. "He does have a certain... rebellious charm," she said.

" 'Rebellious charm'... I like it. I think I might use in the future."

"Go ahead. But you do realise what you could be getting yourself into? Rampaging Pigmy-Puffs, Ginny."

"No, I don't, but that's what I like about it. It's... exciting, in its own way."

"Exciting, eh?" Luna echoed. "I wonder what it would take to get Malfoy _excited_," she added emphatically, raising an eyebrow. Ginny giggled.

"I'm not sure, but I intend to find out. But first," she said, more seriously, "I have to talk to him about the Entrance Hall."

"Why?"

"Because," she replied, scowling, "he's drawing attention to himself, doing that. I mean, don't get me wrong, he was great, and for a change seemed to be actually being helpful, but if he gets on the wrong side of some of the people in that dungeon, he gets on the wrong side of their parents."

Luna nodded. "I think Gregory Goyle might be the missing link between apes and humans, you know."

"Never mind," Ginny said, smiling.

* * *

Halloween was imminent again. The usual flurry of ambitiously exuberant decorations suddenly sprang up over night, bats appeared spontaneously over head in the Great Hall, Pumpkins littered the corridors and tables, and the external windows were bewitched into permanent darkness.

One afternoon a few days before Halloween itself, Ginny noticed a crowd of people milling around the notice board in the Common Room. She was always a little dubious when she glanced towards the board - it wasn't usually good news these days - more security, earlier curfews, and more homework. Today, though, there was a more up-beat buzz coming from the people around the new orange and black sign.

She craned her neck in curiosity, but didn't need to for very long - Ron, Harry and Hermione came up next to her, and Ron barely needed to move his head at all to be able see from his great height.

"Oh Merlin..." he groaned, seeming distraught.

"What?" the others asked, simultaneously.

"They're--" he swallowed heavily.

"Ron!" she cried. "What is it?"

"They're having another Ball!" he choked. Hermione blinked, and mimicked Ron's swallowing motion. Ginny didn't miss their sly glance, or the deepening blush rising in their faces. She rolled her eyes, but the gesture went un-noticed. Harry was frowning obscurely.

"That's all?" she said, smiling. "Ron, you had me worried then!"

"What's not to worry about?" her brother said croakily. "You remember the fiasco last time--"

Harry cleared his throat loudly. Ron stopped himself. Ginny suppressed a chuckle - when would he learn?

Luna came up on her other side, and the others dissipated. Before following the others, Harry peered fleetingly at her; his bright green eyes oddly clear to her.

"Hey," Luna said as Harry turned away after Ron and Hermione. "Did you know that Harry is still infatuated with you?"

"What? No he isn't--"

"If you say so. But he is."

"He broke up with me, remember?" Ginny huffed. She wasn't sure she wanted Harry to still want her. She'd finally realised that there was someone else she was far more interested in. Harry was a great friend, sure, but more? Somehow, it didn't quite sit right. _Still,_ she thought practically, _one thing at a time, eh?_

"Yeah, well, that was then." She beamed at Ginny with a look of smug satisfaction. Ginny ignored it - the smallest things were always over exciting Luna.

"Hmm..." she said sceptically. "In the mean time, who're you going to go with?"

"Going where?"

"Never mind."

"What were you thinking for your costume?" Luna asked mildly.

"_Costume?_" she repeated, spluttering. "It's fancy-dress?"

Luna nodded. "Yes, didn't you know? I think I'm going to go as the Great Purple Fire-Breathing Turtoise of the Alps. It's not themed though, so you could be anything."

Ginny huffed. "Stupid Ron, why didn't he tell me that first?" she was feigning annoyance, but her mind was far too full to actually harbour any resentment. She was seeing costume idea after costume idea flit before her eyes, and she knew she was glazing over. She'd just seen something in her mind's-eye that, if she was not very much mistaken would be both appropriate, and would fit nicely into her 'Make-Malfoy-Excited' plan.

Ginny noticed Professor McGonagall as she was leaving the Common Room, having just pinned up the notice. She thought for a second about going over and speaking to her - there was some unfinished business from the end of Malfoy's Transfiguration class to straighten out. But she thought better of it: it could wait.

* * *

Ginny was exhausted by the time she started up the last flight of stairs towards the Gryffindor tower that evening. Her day had been filled with nothing bar the excited murmuring and stifled giggling of a whole school excited about the prospect of the Halloween Ball, she very much included. She was just going over her idea once more when she heard her name being called.

"Ginny!"

She froze. She recognised the voice, but she hadn't expected to have to talk to him for a couple more days. But despite her initial surprise, she warmed to the idea of a conversation with him as soon as she saw his face. His quirkily little grin was tucked onto his face, and she could tell he was trying very hard to restrain it.

"You're a long way out of your way, Draco," she said quietly, diverting off her beaten track and walking with him along a disused corridor. He smiled grimly.

"I know. I needed a word."

"Did you now?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes." He sighed heavily. "Ginny, I've been thinking about the other day, in the Entrance Hall. I--"

"Draco, I think I know what you're going to say," she said sadly. "And I understand. You can't keep talking to me, defending my friends. That was - wonderful, really, but it's not practical for you. How are you going to live if you alienate all the Slytherins?"

"Ginny," he said, halting her. "I don't want to stop talking to you, I don't care about them. That's what I needed to tell you - I want to see more of you, I want--" he paused. "I want you to know that you're the first person, at least at Hogwarts, who's ever really wanted to know me, for me. Not for my parents or power." He grinned shyly. "You're-- You might be my only friend."

Ginny was shocked. She'd never expected this. He stood there, looking down on her expectantly from his intimidating height, and she realised that she couldn't say what he wanted to hear. It stung her painfully in the chest.

Casting a furtive glance down the passageway, Ginny did something she'd never, ever have thought about doing in her entire life. She hugged Draco Malfoy.

He seemed shocked, but after a second hugged her back. She felt him clinging strangely to her, burying his nose in her shoulder.

"Draco," she said softly, when he'd straightened up. "I'm honestly, _honestly_, so happy you could say that to me. But," and she saw the look of pain cross his face, "what I said still stands. You'd be putting yourself into a lot of hot water to associate with me. Maybe into lethally hot water. You could literally be boiled alive."

"I don't care," he said. "I need to know you're-- there," he finished lamely.

Ginny smiled warmly. "And I will be. But you've got to keep it... _restrained_."

Slowly, he nodded.

"So..." he said. "Figured out who you're going with yet?" he asked.

"Nope," she said, knowing he was talking about the Ball. "Maybe Harry..." she teased, knowing it had hit the spot when she saw him involuntarily wrinkle his nose.

"Potter?" he spat, as though it were a personal insult.

"I'm joking," she laughed, hitting him gently on the arm. "Potter wouldn't have me anyway."

"I can't imagine why," he smirked, a trace of his old confidence surfacing. His eyes glazed over with a cloudy sort of fond gaze. "Ginny? Can you do me a favour?"

"Anything," she said, shrugging.

"Meet me tomorrow? There's some stuff I want to show you."

"I'm not that kind of girl, Malfoy," she said playfully, smiling.

He smiled back. "Will you though?"

"Sure," she said, after a pause. "End of Care of Magical Creatures, by the Broom Shed?"

He nodded brusquely, and, with a half grin, strode off, leaving the corridor very cold.

* * *

Sitting cross-legged on her crimson bedspread, a sketch pad balanced precariously on her knee, she sat that evening trying to drive Draco from her mind, but drawing had often had the opposite effect on her - it seemed to encourage her mind to run away from her.

Thankfully, it was only after three or four repetitions of Malfoy's illicit hug that someone tapped on the dormitory door, and Hermione poked her head in.

"Hey," Ginny said, beaming. "What's up?"

"Not much," Hermione shrugged. But she was beaming smugly.

"C'mon, 'Mione, you're hiding something."

She squealed suddenly, startling Ginny.

"Ron asked me to the Ball!"

Ginny did chuckle this time. "Wow, Herms, when?"

"Right after we left you. He took me aside and just-- asked!"

"About time. You really didn't think he'd do a Yule Ball all over again, did you?"

Hermione shrugged again. "Well, you know Ron..."

"Say no more," Ginny said. "I'm happy for you."

Hermione blushed. She peered over to Ginny's project.

"Ginny, that's really good! What is it?"

"An idea for my Halloween costume."

Hermione's brow crinkled. "Ginny, I very much doubt your brother would approve."

"Good job it's not for him then," she said. Hermione laughed.

"Need any help?"

Ginny grinned. "Absolutely."

* * *

Read and Review Please!

This could be it for a little while, maybe for a couple of weeks, but I promise I'll be back with Chapter Six a.s.a.p.


	6. Total Recall

_Sorry it's late - College (WhooHoo! - First week!)_

**

* * *

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**Total Recall**

Draco hovered around near the broom shed for a good half an hour before Ginny arrived. Thanks to seventh-year timetables his previous lesson had been free, and he had spent the time in eager anticipation. Tucked into his pocket were three shallow jars filled with a silvery substance.

Leaning against the door of the shed, feeling the warm wood on his back, he watched the sun just over the Forbidden Forest, sinking towards the ground. He couldn't shake the wobbly feeling in his stomach, and it disconcerted him - nerves were not something that Malfoys became accustomed too.

He heard footsteps, and Ginny's cinnamon head poked around the corner of the broom shed. She smiled.

"You're early," she said, by way of greeting.

"No I'm not," he replied.

"Alright, you're not late, then."

The side of his mouth quirked up. "OK."

Ginny leaned beside him on the broom shed wall, following his gaze back to the forest and the lake and the surrounding mountains.

The sun, on the rebound from when summer had deserted her for autumn, had been stubbornly warm all day, and had pulled most of the moisture from the last few days' tumultuous weather into the air, making everything hazy and misty. The goalposts of the Quidditch pitch could barely be seen.

Draco glanced down at her. "Shall we walk?"

She nodded.

They started up the well-worn path between the broom shed and the Quidditch pitch, shoulder to shoulder. Draco was very aware that the path, which was usually undertaken single-file, was very narrow, and didn't easily accommodate two people side-by-side. The result was that they kept bumping shoulders, making him feel awkward and clumsy.

"Sorry," he muttered, for the thirtieth time, after bumping her particularly viciously. She didn't reply, just nudged him back. Had that been intentional?

Experimentally, he pushed her a little bit. She smacked her shoulder back into his with so much force that he stumbled clean off the path.

"Ginny!" he cried, exasperated.

"Draco!" she teased, mocking, and tipping her head to the side. He couldn't find it in himself to be angry - he hadn't been this happy in months, maybe years. Ginny chuckled merrily, and resumed her tread up the path. Draco stood still, staring after her for a second. Smiling, he shook his head and jogged to catch up with her.

They reached the pitch at the same time, and strode out onto the flood-lit grass. The sky was turning from a dull pink into a foggy blue, and tiny pin-pricks of light were beginning to twinkle. It was ironically romantic.

Ginny walked straight to the centre of the pitch and sat down in the centre circle. Draco eyed the damp grass, then joined her, sitting directly opposite her. It was weirdly symmetrical.

"So what did you want to show me?" Ginny asked, frowning gently in the soft light. Her eyes were picking up the faint reflections from the stars appearing slowly in the darkening sky.

He pulled the three jars from his inside pocket and lined them up, keeping the symmetry.

"Some memories."

He noticed that Ginny's frown had deepened. He didn't mention it her apparent unease.

"OK," she said quietly. He twisted the lid off the first one, and pulled his wand from his cloak, dipping it into the silvery substance. It spun very fast in the shallow dish, like a tiny Pensieve.

Draco looked across the silvery glow towards Ginny. She looked, for the first time, a little nervous, staring into the dish.

"You OK?" he asked soothingly. He'd never spoken soothingly before. She nodded.

"Fine," she said, firmly. He nodded.

"Alright then. Give me your hand..." She did, and he leant forward, dipping his other hand into the liquid light.

They fell forwards immediately, spinning through a kind of dark vortex that he was all-too familiar with. They landed, with a dull thud, on a bright, golden lawn.

* * *

In the distance sat Malfoy Manor, high above the swooping gardens on which they currently stood. It domineered over everything, shedding a long, black, evening shadow across the grass.

He turned around, knowing exactly what he would find: a smaller garden on the edge of a surrounding wood, fenced off and growing wilder - a meadow. He sighed, unable to stop himself. The air was cooling after a warm summer's day, dust floating gently on the breeze. Bright yellow light spread from the sinking sun, engulfing everything in a glow.

He also found Ginny, hyperventilating.

"What's wrong?" he asked, deeply concerned. Her hand was shaking in his. He raised his other, wrapping it around Ginny's. "What's the matter? Ginny? Tell me."

She closed her eyes, and he could see her visibly steadying herself.

"It's OK, I'm fine," she said, but her voice was trembling horribly.

"Tell me," he repeated firmly, stepping closer to her. She flinched.

"I've just got some... bad memories of some... more bad memories, I guess." She looked pale, paler then he'd ever seen her, and he didn't like it at all. He clapped his hand to his forehead.

"I should have thought," he said, realising. "You-Know-Who. Tom Riddle. Oh Merlin."

Ginny shook her head. "No, no, I'm OK. Really. I just need a minute."

"Here," he said, leading her over to the fence. "Sit here, calm down. I can get you out of here if you want--"

"No. I'll be fine," she said again. But this time her voice was sure and clear. He breathed again. "It's just the weirdness is coming back. It freaked me the first time but that was because You-Know-Who--"

"You can still feel his presence," Draco said. "I understand. Let's just say I've got parallels."

He saw her frowning at him.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to explain. "Once you've been probed by the Dark Lord, there's little that can make you forget."

He still felt, even all these months later, the sickening tendrils of someone else's presence in his mind. And not a blunt, simple invasion, but a permanent, insistent marring of thought and another, more slimy, wriggling, engulfing consciousness, physically invading him. Ginny had been talking to him.

"Draco?" she was very quiet.

"Hmm?"

"Don't worry," she said, smiling faintly. "Not important."

He tightened his grip on her hand. "Ginny, you once asked me to trust you. I did, you know. Still do."

She smiled more broadly, her eyes glittering in the fading sun.

"Now you need to trust me."

She nodded immediately. "Absolutely. I'm fine. Really I am. Now."

Draco squeezed her hand, then dropped it, and leaned on the fence, nodding towards the Orchard. "Any minute now," he murmured, as Ginny leant next to him.

A small, blonde-haired boy of about four charged out of the trees, completely naked.

Ginny gasped. "That's you!"

He smirked. "I'm aware of that."

She shot him a look of amusement, but was distracted when a second figure emerged from the woodland: a woman with short, cropped black hair, worn jeans and a yellow T-shirt.

"Who's that?" she asked. Draco swallowed.

"Neviera. My nanny."

"You had a nanny?"

He frowned in genuine confusion. "You didn't?"

She smiled, and rubbed her thumb and fingers together. Ah. Money.

"Draco, I don't care about money. Never have, never will. So relax."

He shrugged. "Alright."

"I don't want to get dressed!" he shrieked with laughter. "Nakey Drakey! Nakey Drakey!"

He was well aware that he was blushing furiously. Even in the dying sun his neck was burning. But Ginny wasn't watching him; her eyes followed his own, younger, smoother back up through the meadow towards a grassy mound, screaming.

"Ever the sophisticated pureblood, eh, Drakey?" Ginny whispered, teasing. He didn't even mind - that was weird.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy! Get back here now!" Neviera called, stooping to collect discarded clothes. "You little terror! You'll scare the birds away waving that thing around!"

Though un-mentioned, they were both perfectly aware what had been waved around. Draco had forgotten some of the details of this memory, he hadn't seen it in so long. Now it was all coming back to him. Vividly. His mouth was very dry, his palms had slicked. He was so incredibly embarrassed that he thought he might faint.

Ginny glanced at him.

"Don't worry Draco. I've got six brothers. You really think you have anything I haven't seen before?" and to his horror, she glanced towards his trousers. He nearly choked.

"You're so cute when you're embarrassed," she added. He wasn't sure how to take that. "Cuter than when you used to shout, anyway."

He couldn't help it. He laughed. "Thanks. I think. You're not so bad yourself."

They looked back towards Draco and Neviera. She had just, it seemed, rugby-tackled him to the ground, and was now in the process of wrestling him into an emerald green long-sleeved T-shirt and cream trousers. He was giggling like a lunatic.

"Are you really that ticklish?" Ginny asked, having apparently relaxed enough to tease him mercilessly from now on.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," he said shortly.

"Oh yeah? You really don't want to tempt me, Draco."

His head whipped around. Was she still teasing? Actually, was she _flirting_? All he could think was that her brother would kill her if he knew.

She was staring calmly towards Neviera and Draco, hand in hand, wandering up the sloping lawns in the bright sunlight.

"Come on," she said, clambering over the gate. "I want to see what happens to Nakey Drakey next."

* * *

They followed Neviera and Little Draco all the way up the lawns, around the side of the Manor and in through the kitchen door. Neviera dusted herself and Draco off and walked him through to the Library.

The Library was massive. Huge towering bookcases lined deliciously with leather-bound volumes, thick, crisp paper-backs and colourful, narrow story books. Tall windows let in the golden sunlight that had bathed the grounds, and the crossing trellises latticed the room in thin shadow lines.

Draco wandered across the room, and looked out of the giant windows.

"Why did we have to come inside?"

"Because," Neviera smiled, "you can have too much of a good thing, Draco."

"I don't know what you mean."

Neviera smiled enigmatically. "You will one day. Here," she added lightly, gesturing towards a particularly colourful area of some shelves. "Pick something to read for me, would you?"

Draco tore away from the window and poured eagerly over the spines, his grey eyes moving enthusiastically over the titles.

"This one?"

Neviera peered at it. "Alright," she said, nodding and pulling it down. "Sit, please."

He did. The older Draco watched him. Neviera opened the book, and started reading, but the words lapped and rolled over Draco without affecting him - he'd heard the story many times. It had a dragon in it. And besides... he knew what happened next.

Lucius Malfoy sidled in, a cane in one hand and a large, leather-bound book in the other. The cane was, of course, for decoration - his father was perfectly capable of walking without it, but it seemed to make him feel better to carry that stick. Draco had some very unpleasant memories relating to that stick.

Seeing his father, alive and kicking, hit Draco square in the face. He hadn't thought this far ahead when he'd decided he was going to show these memories to Ginny. He guessed he'd assumed his father would also be dead in his memories.

"Evening, Neviera," Lucius said. "Has young Draco behaved himself today?" he said it more as an accusation.

Quickly, Neviera answered. "Yes, yes, he was wonderful as always, Mr Malfoy."

"Good."

His father crossed the room and put the book back onto a high shelf. Young Draco, though, had been distracted by his father.

"Father!" he called, crossing the oak floor. "Father, what are you doing?"

"Putting a book back," his father replied, sneering slightly at what he obviously considered a stupid question. "What, exactly, did I appear to be doing?"

The child did not blush. "What book were you reading, father?"

"It was on the Arts, Draco," his father said softly. "When you are older I will teach you about it. But your mother will insist on restraint were the Dark Arts are considered, at least in your youth. Carry on, Neviera," he added, in a tone that suggested he didn't think Neviera was doing her job terribly well if this inquisition was the result.

"Are you OK, Draco?" he heard Ginny ask, for he had been staring at his father for as long as he had been in the room. It wasn't that his image brought on a painful memory. But it was rather his dispassionate-ness that worried him. Had he had no loyal feeling for his father at all? The hollow feeling inside him would seem to say no.

"I'm... fine," he said. "Let's go."

He grabbed her hand again and pulled her from the memory, and they landed in the centre of the pitch. Draco had thought he'd probably be able to get through all three pots tonight, but all he wanted to do was curl up in his room and sleep.

"We'd better get back," Ginny said, as though reading his mind. "You sure you're OK?"

"Yes," he lied. Now it wasn't his father that made him want to do anything other than open the second jar. It was the realisation that his mother was contained in the next jar. He'd not even thought about what it would be like to see them, how stupid was that? He was angry with himself. Why hadn't he thought of this? Why hadn't he prepared himself?

That night, when Ginny was safely back in the tower and he had rolled into his bed and sealed the curtains around him, he thought about that evening. Everything had just seemed so strange and disconnected and wild that he had trouble making sense of it. And why hadn't anything that he'd seen been the slightest bit relevant?

* * *

_That's it for this one._


	7. Dragon Tails and Muggle Magic

_I've noticed a mistake in some of the earlier chapters - Ginny's eyes are brown. Just assume I always said they were hazel, OK..._

**Dragon Tails and Muggle Magic**

It seemed it was several long days, nearly a week, before Draco plucked up the courage to finish showing Ginny the memories.

She wasn't stupid. She'd seen how the sudden and unexpected appearance of his dead father had affected the Slytherin. His face had gone from energised pink from the dash up the lawns to startled white in the matter of a few seconds, and his eyes had suddenly become unreadable. She was discovering that she really didn't like seeing Malfoy in this much discomfort.

He approached her during a crossover, while she was leaving Care of Magical Creatures and he was headed that way.

"Hogsmeade again soon," he said, leaning against the fence as she packed her books and dragon hide gloves onto her bag.

"Yep. Should be good - I'm going with Hermione. She's going to help me with my costume for the Hallowe'en Ball."

"Oh," he said, in a small voice.

"We've been over this Draco. Not yet." She spotted a group of Slytherins coming over a rise and down towards the hut. "Phoenix," she said sharply, nodding. Draco stiffened, and pulled out his wand, folding his arms over his chest.

"Well, Weasley, I want to show you the rest of those memories," he said, in a tone he used to use when mocking small first years and scaring them witless. If the other Slytherins saw them, not being able to hear them, they'd think they were arguing.

"I think that can be arranged, Malfoy," she replied dangerously, drawing her own wand. The scene was beginning to attract attention, but that was all part of the plan. They'd thought of it the other day, when someone nearly caught them chatting happily in the Library. 'Phoenix' was the trigger.

"Where? When?" he said sharply, frowning. It was all they could do not to laugh.

"Astronomy tower? Two-ish?"

"Done. Now get the Hell away from me, Muggle-lover!"

"With pleasure," she spat, pointing her wand at him.

"Like to see you try," he said down his nose at her. Ginny flashed him a grin, but then the other Slytherins arrived.

"I think that can be arranged, Malfoy," she said again. Her arm flashed out. "_Calidemantra!_"

Draco flew backwards, did three somersaults and a cartwheel, and landed with a thump in the cabbage patch, splattering a huge pumpkin. Ginny was pretty sure that he was not just acting mad now.

"Weasley!" he flung out his wand. "Levicorpus!"

The blast hit Ginny and threw her into the air, twisting her upside down. Luckily she was still wearing her brown dungarees from the lesson, otherwise it would have been embarrassing. She folded her arms.

"Best you can do?" she snorted. She flicked her wand back at him. "_Pedimomentium!_"

Draco's feet whipped out from under him, landing him back in the mangled mess of his destroyed pumpkin. Ginny, her hair swishing around under her, flicked her wand again, and Draco realised she had complete control of his feet. He was being dragged backwards through the cabbage patch, dirt gathering in his robes, but he didn't drop his wand or let her down.

"OI! YOU TWO!" Hagrid appeared, bellowing. "GERROFF HER, YOU!"

Hagrid grabbed Ginny by the scruff of the neck, and plucked her out of the air like an apple from a tree. Then he grabbed her wand from her. Ginny watched Draco pick himself up and dust himself off.

"Now," Hagrid said loudly. "I'm not havin' my students brawlin' in between my lessons. Malfoy, detention."

"What? She did it too!" Malfoy protested, throwing himself forward and stabbing a finger at Ginny. "Why doesn't she get detention?"

"Because-- well, because..." Hagrid fumbled with his obvious favouritism. Then he shrugged at her. "Because I wasn't finished. Miss Weasley, detention."

She shrugged. "Alright."

"Now be on with yeh," Hagrid said. "I've got lessons to teach."

* * *

Ginny was perfectly behaved for the rest of the day. She couldn't risk anything that would stop her getting to the Astronomy tower.

At half-past one, she clambered silently out of bed and pulled on a jacket and slippers, closing her curtains around the bed behind her.

The castle was deserted. She was astonished that she didn't see anyone all the way through the twisting route towards the tallest tower. She crept towards the door, turning up the spiral staircase.

"Draco?"

She saw him, leaning on the tower wall in an emerald green dressing-gown. The wind was flicking back his hair. He looked up.

"Hello." He smiled grimly.

"You OK?" she asked, frowning. His face broke into a wider smile.

"Yeah, fine. I've been scrubbing off pumpkin mush for three hours!"

Ginny giggled. "Sorry about that."

"It was... funny," he said slowly, nodding. "I'm not used to using public humiliation as a method of amusement."

"That's because you're usually the one doing the humiliating."

"True." He flashed her a smile. "Shall we?"

"Yep," she agreed, walking over to him. "You sure you're OK with this?"

He nodded again. "Absolutely."

He pulled the jars out again, and plopped his chosen one onto the stone barrier. Ginny leaned in to the buttress as he tapped the silvery liquid with his wand.

* * *

It was Diagon Alley. Younger Draco, his Mother, Father, and Neviera were emerging from Gringotts into a throng of hurried witches and wizards. Ginny glanced over at Draco, but his expression was immobile. She followed him as he led her over to them at the bottom of the marble steps.

Draco's mother looked just as she had the last time Ginny had seen her, at the Quidditch World Cup - pretty, blonde, and tall. Today though, she didn't have that look of pride or arrogance. She looked, if possible, happy. Content, even.

Ginny frowned. This was peculiar. She'd never seen the Malfoys in any mood other than condescending and haughty. Happy Narcissa was positively radiant. Lucius, though, looked distinctly disgruntled.

"Could you take Draco up to Flourish and Blott's, please, Neviera?" Draco's mother asked. "We promised him that book - something about dragons."

"I know which one, Mrs Malfoy. We'll be right back."

Narcissa smiled after them as Draco and Neviera left, the jet-haired woman steering the boy by the shoulder. Neviera halted him, and started fussing busily with his jacket. Draco, though, looked back towards his parents. He must have been six.

"What is the matter, Lucius? You've barely been yourself all day." Narcissa was speaking to her husband. "You're not still fretting over Neviera, are you? I've already told you, I like her. She is staying."

"Narcissa, she's having a bad influence on Draco. He is becoming... soft."

"Soft?" Narcissa laughed. "Draco? I don't think so. Your influence has dealt with that. She has been with him since birth - he sees her as a member of the family. You cannot simply cut her out."

"Do you know what I caught him reading the other day? _Muggle Magic!_ I detest having that book in the house to begin with, but to encourage my son to look at Mudbloods with fondness? With compassion? I cannot allow it!"

"So take away the book, not the reader! She does not know how strongly you feel, Lucius. She shouldn't be punished for your lack of clarity with her. You told her when you took her on - make him strong. Make him have a backbone, character. Give him integrity. She has done her very best for him."

"She has made him into a Muggle-lover, filth. I must put a stop to it."

"Lucius you are being ridiculous! You know I cannot cope without her yet! She stays!"

"You are too soft with him too!" Lucius snapped. "He will be nothing more than a giant marshmallow if this continues!"

"Oh you do go on!" Narcissa laughed. "Alright, if you want to make him tougher - you can have your wish. Teach him the Arts. Let him see for himself. Take a firmer hand. Do it yourself!"

Narcissa broke off from her husband and joined Neviera, who had just finished with Draco's coat. Lucius fumed.

"Come on Draco," Narcissa said gently. "I and Neviera will take you to buy your dragon book. Your father has something to take care of." She shot a stony look at her husband, and led Neviera and the child away.

Ginny looked towards her Draco.

"I'm not entirely certain I understand," she said, approaching him.

He stood frowning for a few seconds, looking oddly angry without focus.

"Me either," he said at last, glancing at her. He sighed loudly, his frown cutting into his brow.

Ginny paused for a second. She didn't want to ask questions, she didn't want to seem ignorant, and she didn't want to anger or upset Draco any more than was necessary. Quietly, she decided she had to ask something.

"Draco, why are you showing me this?"

He let out a heavy sigh again, his jaw set.

"I just... I don't know. I wanted you to understand."

She nodded, thoughtful. "I'll do my best. Even if I'm not sure what I'm meant to be understanding. What's happening now?"

Draco, Neviera and Narcissa had entered Flourish and Blott's, Lucius having disappeared.

"Mother's going to buy my dragon book. I still have it, you know, but it's at home. I wish I'd stuck it in my trunk."

"Come on then," Ginny said, and she pulled him towards the bookshop door.

"Here, Draco," Narcissa was saying, taking the big black book from Neviera's outstretched hand. _Dragon Tails_ was emblazoned in silver on the cover.

Neviera crouched next to Draco. "Now, Draco, this is an expensive book your mother is getting for you. Do you promise to look after it?"

Draco nodded furtively. "Course I will, Mother. I'll keep it next to my bed, and I won't let Cougio anywhere near it--"

" 'Cougio'?" Ginny prompted.

Draco grinned suddenly. "My pet," he said simply.

Neviera ruffled Draco's hair fondly. Ginny saw Draco rubbing the hair at the back of his head out of the corner of her eye. Narcissa, though, was frowning.

"Do not concern yourself with money, Draco. If you damage this book, it will be replaced, of course."

"Thank you, Mother," Draco said, oblivious to the look of barely reined in disapproval on Neviera's face, as he trotted off and thrust the book at a waiting sales clerk.

"Let's get back to the Manor," Narcissa said suddenly. "Dobby can make you what ever you wish for dinner, Draco."

"I'll have whatever Dobby is making, Mother," Draco said mildly, flicking through his book.

"Nonsense. He is there to pander to our will; use him."

"Yes, Mother." He looked as though he couldn't care less. But his mother was watching Neviera as though she'd just realised something abominable. She narrowed her eyes in judgement, and Draco and Ginny did not see them relax.

"Time to go," Draco insisted, gripping Ginny's elbow.

* * *

"I think I know why you want me to see these, Draco," Ginny said, as they walked silently back through the castle in the dark, passing through the Trophy Room. "You're unconsciously trying to justify your actions over the years."

He frowned. "Am I?"

She nodded. "Almost certainly. We'll see - when I've seen the final memory. I bet I'm right."

He shrugged. "Probably. Shh, I thought I heard something..." he put out an arm to stop her, before peering around the edge of a glass cabinet. "No, nothing... I was sure I heard--"

"You did." Ginny was looking straight into Professor McGonagall's livid face.

* * *

_R & R please, I can't do it without you! Oh, and by the way, 'Cougoi' is pronouced "Cor-G-O."_


	8. A Shot in the Foot

_So, here we are in again. Keep up the reviews - I need them, they're helpful! Please, please! Construtive, though, please... I know, I'm fussy..._

**

* * *

**

**A Shot in the Foot**

"Could you please explain to me, _how_, when I have just discovered you wandering the castle after an obvious and barely-veiled intentional rendez-vous at _two-thirty_ in the morning, _you expect me to let this pass_?" McGonagall hissed, apparently too angry to speak properly. A vein was throbbing at her temple.

She had marched them directly to Dumbledore's old office, now hers, and plonked them down in front of her desk. Despite the crackling fire in the grate, the imminent danger he and Ginny were in was making Draco feel very, very cold.

Ginny, though, leaned forwards. "We don't, Professor."

McGonagall opened her mouth, made to speak, noticed Ginny's words, and slowly closed her mouth.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny looked at her, resolute. "We don't, Professor. We knew exactly what we were doing, and why we did it. We'll take whatever punishment you see fit to hand out. Though we would prefer it if you didn't expel us."

Draco nearly snorted, half shocked by Ginny's nerve and half terrified of McGonagall. But the Headmistress did seem to hear the slight expulsion of air that he'd let out of his nose.

"You find something about this amusing, Mr Malfoy?" McGonagall said dangerously, rounding on him.

He paused for a second, then found himself saying,

"Yes, Professor, a little." McGonagall swallowed furiously.

"Enlighten me, Malfoy, _what_ is so funny?" she said.

He glanced at Ginny, and saw her smiling at him.

"Well, mostly I'm just as surprised as you at what Ginny just said. She is right though - we don't much care what you do to us. I know that makes us seem completely un-punishable" - it was McGonagall's turn to snort - "but I know you'll do a good job trying."

McGonagall turned away and sat down behind her desk, too enraged to speak.

"I cannot believe this," she said after a moment. "Never, in all my years, have I found two students so willing to be punished! That two students, two Hogwarts pupils, could actively set out to meet in the middle of the night - one of them a Gryffindor! It is beyond comprehension. I would have expected better from you, Miss Weasley, after all your efforts! I thought that after your suggestion, and your subsequent offer, you were simply trying to help. But no... meeting in secret at two in the morning!--"

"Professor?" Ginny interrupted, frowning. "You're not assuming we met to... to, _meet_, are you?" Draco's eyes widened, and shot back to McGonagall, who was tight-lipped.

"You are teenagers, Miss Weasley, sixteen and seventeen, and though it's only natural and these feelings are perfectly normal, it is not acceptable--"

Ginny and Draco shot each other a horrified glance, and both spoke at once.

"Professor, Draco and I--"

"We're not--"

"It hadn't ever began to enter--"

"There's just no way that is possible, Professor McGonagall," he finished. McGonagall's jaw was tight.

"If that's the case," she said, and she looked as though she didn't believe a word of it, "then _why_ were you there?"

There was a dangerous silence.

"Draco was... showing me something," Ginny said. Draco really did let out a laugh then.

"Could you possibly have made that sound any worse for us?" he said, grinning. "Professor," he said, turning back, "I was showing Ginny some memories of mine. They're things from my childhood that I just _had_ to show her. She thinks it's my subconscious trying to excuse the way I've treated her and Potter and Granger and the Weasleys all these years--"

"Yeah, and the only way we could see them in peace--"

"I didn't really want anyone else knowing, you see--"

"And since I'm his friend now--"

"And she's helped me a lot, Professor--"

"It's easier to show me, I guess--"

"STOP! I get the idea," McGonagall barked. "Mr Malfoy--"

He braced himself.

"Congratulations - not many people your age could have enough control over their memories to be able to capture them successfully," she said, grudgingly.

He blinked. "You what, Professor?"

McGonagall arched an eyebrow. "I will not be repeating that again. Now, as for what you two were up to--"

"We've already told you that, Professor," Ginny said calmly. "What are you going to do?"

"Well, since you appear to have little regard for the rules in this matter, there is little I can do to effectively punish you. And your actions were not sufficiently severe as to warrant expulsion, seeing as no one was hurt by your actions. However," she added, seeing their cheerful faces, "That won't stop me taking seventy-five points from your respective houses, revoking both your Quidditch privileges for two months, and giving you detention." She took a breath. "Go. Now, please."

They nodded, and stood up. Ginny headed for the door, but Draco gripped her elbow and looked at McGonagall.

"Professor, can I ask you a question?"

McGonagall looked enraged at the mere suggestion. "What is it?"

"What suggestion?" he asked, jerking his head towards Ginny. McGonagall's eyes flickered between them.

"She has asked me," she said slowly, "whether I could assign you together as tutoring partners, for her potions grade. She believed she could help you, in some way. I agreed, though I have yet to put anything into action. However, what with all your detentions, I don't think you will have the time!"

Draco frowned, confused. "Alright, Professor, thanks."

"Actually, hold on, Miss Weasley. I need a moment of your time," McGonagall said.

Ginny glanced at Draco. "Wait for me?" He nodded.

He wandered out into the corridor. That request, if he was right, had been made just over a week ago. It made him smile to think that he and Ginny had become friends so quickly, but, if he was honest with himself, he was anxious. He glanced at McGonagall's door. Inside, Ginny was speaking to the Headmistress.

Had all he been to Ginny was some sort of pet project? A secret mission, something to pass the time? Even worse - something to just help bulk-up her potions grade? It stung him hard in the chest to think that everything Ginny had said and heard was rehearsed, just part of the master-plan. Furious, he turned around, pressing his forehead to the cool wall. Blood was thumping uncomfortably in his ears.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something glinting. He shifted his head, and peered in its direction. It was his hand: on his fourth finger of his right hand he had a silver signet ring. His father had given it to him when he'd got his Hogwarts letter. A tiny dragon was shimmering against the fire light, glaring up at him. It writhed its tiny tail.

He'd always loved that ring. Whether it came from his father or not, it had always held importance for him. Value - even if sentimental. He took it off and turned it in his hand. It suddenly seemed as if something of that value had been lost to him, and as though nothing would ever have value again. He didn't want his ring anymore, he realised - having things of value just meant that when you lost them it hurt, a lot. He placed it carefully on the nearest banister rail, before dashing away towards the dungeons. It's clear now… I understand why he leaves the ring behind! Thanks!

* * *

Sleep was impossible. Draco lay, looking blindly up at the green canopy. Tomorrow was Saturday - Hogsmeade. He couldn't decide whether to go or not. On the one hand, he needed to buy some new dress robes - he'd grown nearly a foot in the last three years, and had far out-grown them. He wouldn't be participating in the whole costume thing - that much was clear to him.

He'd go to Hogsmeade, he decided. Getting out of the castle would do him a lot of good, even if he ran the risk of meeting Ginny. And even if he couldn't, or wouldn't, talk to her, he still needed to see her, to see if his ignoring her had even affected her.

He was angry with her. Almost completely, but there was still that little voice inside him, which kept reminding him, annoyingly, that there was no proof she had just been befriending him to cover her own back or even on the Boy-Who-Bloody-Well-Lived's orders. Maybe she really, truly, did like him for him, she was really his friend because she wanted to be.

He'd shot back to the Dungeons earlier, after leaving McGonagall's office, hoping she wasn't following him - he couldn't stand a confrontation, especially with her right now. He knew she'd got his message - he'd said he'd wait, then didn't. He knew she'd been annoyed, and would understand why too. He didn't doubt it - she wasn't stupid. As soon as he'd walked through the Common Room entrance, he'd felt something inside him uncoil. Something that he hadn't felt before in his entire life. He was bloody _missing_ Ginny. How was that possible? He'd never, ever, in his entire life, missed anyone before. He'd just found a substitute. But how could you substitute the only real friend you'd ever had?

_But she wasn't real, was she?_ he thought. _She was fixed, flawed, fake_.

He sighed heavily. Was she though?

He was so confused, slipping between his sheets.

_She was,_ he thought decisively, slamming his head back into his pillow.

_You only saw her a few minutes ago. How could you miss her already?_ But it wasn't the length of time he was feeling, it was the prospect of never seeing or speaking to Ginny again that meant he barely got a wink of sleep that night.

* * *

It wasn't snowing yet - it was only October after all - but it was surprisingly cold and bitter as Draco strode down the central street in Hogsmeade, the weather suiting his mood perfectly. Goyle and Crabbe were with him, though he couldn't honestly say he noticed very much. They obeyed his orders, probably out of habit, and chuckled stupidly when he led them to it, but other than that, there just wasn't the avid respect – or at least fear - he was accustomed to. It irritated him - why couldn't things just go back to normal?

Gladrags Wizardwear was their first stop. Draco wanted to get any actual shopping that would involve coherent thought out of the way as soon as possible, so that he could get back to wandering around like a zombie, trying not to think for any extended periods of time.

The shop was small, soft, and colourful. Draco thought bitterly that it was the kind of place Ginny would love. Her presence probably would have made his having to be there infinitely more tolerable too.

Draco ran his hand along a row of dressrobes, watching the fabric swing. He didn't know what he was looking for, though. Black, probably. He wasn't a very colourful person.

"Can I help you?" came the voice of a shop assistant, smiling sweetly. Draco didn't like the way her eyes took in his frame - he'd seen that before, and it usually meant they were mentally dressing and re-dressing him in about a thousand things _she_ would like to put him in - none of which he would like.

"Yes," he said firmly. "Black dress robes. Long."

Her smile faltered. "This for the Hogwarts Hallowe'en Ball? Surely you'd rather something more," her eyes glinted menacingly, "_vibrant?_"

"They're not for the Ball," Draco lied, thinking fast. "They're for my parents' funeral."

He watched her, with smug satisfaction, as she scurried away.

"That shut her up," he murmured. Crabbe and Goyle laughed gruffly. Apparently they thought that he had been somewhat back on his old form. He was just getting used to the sound when one much nicer echoed from the back of the shop. Someone else was laughing.

It was Ginny. With Potter, Granger, and Weasley. _Fan-bloody-tastic._

He could run. He could turn tail and bolt from the shop. That was certainly what he felt like doing, and there was nothing to stop him. He could hide - between the robes, in a changing cubicle, anywhere - if Crabbe and Goyle weren't with him. Trying to hide them was like trying to hide Africa. And he'd only just got things almost back to normal - hiding or fleeing would just get him back where he started. So he swallowed the coiled thing writhing in his stomach that was screeching at him to leave Ginny and the others well alone, and strode over.

"Ah, the Dream Team," he said loudly, with a lot more confidence than he felt. All four looked up. "Wouldn't expect to see you in a _shop_, Weaslby. What happened, something needs pawning?"

As he knew they would, Weasley's ears turned pink. Potter slid smoothly in front of Ginny, blocking her from view. Draco wondered why - didn't he know she could take care of herself perfectly well on her own?

"Shove off Malfoy, nobody asked your opinion," Potter retorted.

"Don't worry, Potter, you couldn't afford my opinion anyway. So, you people all have dates for this little knees-up, then?"

Draco had hoped to find them all stumped, all furious he had found them date-less. But on the contrary - Granger and Weasley flushed scarlet and lent closer together, and Potter merely stepped aside, Ginny reappearing with a blazing look of fury and embarrassment. She tilted her head to the side, challenged his gaze directly and turned her torso towards Potter, who was staring straight back at him, his eyebrows raised calmly.

"Couldn't get anyone outside your... _limited_ circle of acquaintance, then?" he said, recovering quickly.

Ginny's expression lightened. She looked amused at his comment, but more amused because of its stupidity. As if she thought it was too completely incorrect to warrant words.

"We just happen to be lucky enough to _have_ friends, Malfoy," Potter said simply.

"I hope they make up for your lack of actual _dates_, then," he spat back. Just then, the assistant returned, hovering just outside their gathering.

"Mr Malfoy? Your robe?" she said tentatively. He nodded to her once, and walked away towards the changing cubicles, waiting for her to follow. He chanced a glance over his shoulder, and saw her handing something scarlet and shimmering to Ginny. It looked rich. It looked simple. It looked wonderful. Draco had never wanted to see anything as much as he wanted to see what was in that bundle of fabric. And he definitely didn't want to see it when there was anyone other than him and Ginny around. Like that was ever going to happen now.

The rest of the Hogsmeade trip passed in a blur. Shop to shop, buying supplies, school equipment. There was just nothing interesting or amusing or intriguing when Ginny wasn't there. It was going to take him a while to get over not seeing her.

_Bloody hell, what would father have said? Hear you thinking like that... he'd have been furious. She's a Weasley, that's all. Someone you knew. Now you don't. Simple as._

But as he sat down in the Three Broomsticks he realised it wasn't that simple. She wasn't just a Weasley, she was his friend. His only bloody friend. He wanted to go back to his dormitory and crawl under the covers, and go to sleep. There was a huge, thick lump in his throat, and he didn't know how to stop it coming up - it wasn't something he'd allowed himself to get much practice at. He swallowed his drink heavily, and headed back to the castle.

* * *

_End. So far..._


	9. Missing Malfoy

_Sorry this took so long - I'm a little bogged down with college work now that the holidays are over! But I will finish this story. Eventually... Please continue to be your helpful, wonderful selves -thanks to reviewers._

**

* * *

****Missing Malfoy**

It was raining. Again. The past week Ginny felt like she'd never been properly dry - though at least she wasn't out in it for Quidditch. That was the only good thing about being excluded from Quidditch - she missed everything else horribly. She even missed just walking down there with Harry and Ron three nights a week, getting to spend time with her older brother and his best friend. On top of that, though, she still had the daunting prospect of detention with Hagrid to look forward to.

She sat in front of the Common Room fire, contemplating Harry.

True, she'd said she'd go with him to the Hallowe'en Ball. But what did he think about it? Was he thinking she was doing it out of anything other than friendship? Did he think something might happen? She wasn't sure she could let him down in front of all those people... she'd have to talk to him first, before she thought about anything else. Maybe she could broach the subject of Draco while she was at it. If you're going to ruin someone's day, you might as well get all the unpleasantness over with in one foul swoop.

Draco had run off. Of course, she knew what it meant. He'd taken that thing about her tutoring the wrong way - she'd known he had from the look on his face. She never wanted to make him look quite that hurt ever again. Even if she didn't think it was her fault - if he had stayed still long enough, she could have explained. Sod him then, if he was going to act like an idiot about it. And what had he been playing at in Gladrag's? That Slytherin had a habit of jumping to the wrong conclusions. Even though any conclusions he jumped to about her and Harry going to the Ball would be true... but still...

She sighed. Harry. She hoped she hadn't been giving him the wrong impression the other day, when he'd asked her to the Ball and she'd said yes. She couldn't have said no, really, unless she'd been going with someone else. He was her friend, he needed her help. Simple as. She couldn't let him embarrass himself by being the only one without a date.

Not that he couldn't ask almost any girl in the school. Pretty much the whole of the female population of Hogwarts was dying to go with him. All of them, it seemed, except her. Her and Hermione, that is, who was so caught up in the euphoria of Ron asking her to the Hallowe'en Ball that it was as if she'd been walking around in a sort of semi-daze. It had been this state of impaired awareness that Ginny had been commenting on the other day, when Harry had approached her.

* * *

"Hermione, you really should put this whole Ron-Ball thing out of your mind, you know," Ginny called across the room. "Before you walk into a--" Hermione, heading towards the girls dormitories, had just bashed into the wall. "--Door frame," Ginny finished, as Hermione's books tumbled out of her grasp. Hermione looked over sheepishly, and was in the process of scooping them up, her face scarlet, when Harry tripped down the book-laden bottom few steps and lost his footing, rolling four steps and landing with a thump on the floor. He sat up, decided it might be a bad idea, and collapsed back down again. Giggling, Ginny vaulted the back of the sofa and went to help.

"Honestly, one of you is going to have to start using your _eyes_," she said, passing books to Hermione. "Before someone gets seriously hurt!"

Hermione scampered away. Harry grinned, then got gingerly to his feet, dusting himself off. "It's so clear they like each other," she went on. "Wish they'd just admit it so we can all get on with our lives." She threw a broad smile towards Harry, but he was still rubbing his lower back. "You OK? You hit the floor pretty hard."

"Fine," he said, dismissing the subject. "Gin, can I talk to you?"

She frowned. "Alright."

"I need to ask you a favour."

"Sure, Harry. You know I'd do pretty much anything for you guys," she said, expecting help with an essay or an assignment.

"Go to the Hallowe'en Ball with me?" he asked quickly.

She gaped. "You what?"

"The Ball," he repeated, looking uncomfortable. "Go with me, please. Obviously, if you don't want--"

"No," she said suddenly, surprising herself. "No, I think I will go with you," she went on, thinking bitterly of the look on Draco's face. She smiled. "Anything for a friend, Harry."

"Yeah," he said, looking happier. "Are you coming to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

"Yeah, wouldn't miss it," she agreed. She could get her robes. The ones that had meant to get Malfoy drooling. Well, they might still come in handy.

* * *

That had been days ago. Ginny was curled up in bed, smoothing her robes. Her gorgeous, rich, luxurious, scarlet robes, her hangings pulled around. She'd earned the money from Fred and George over the summer, and had finally spent it. It had been a wrench. She'd got used to having a large amount of un-spent cash lying around helpfully. Now... well, at least what she'd bought was absolutely beautiful.

Except that she'd bought it to impress Draco. Problem being that Draco was now no longer her friend - apparently. She was stubborn - there was no way she was going to explain herself to someone who didn't want to listen. Bloody git. So she felt like she'd wasted her money. She sighed again. She'd been sighing a lot over the last week. Ever since Draco had stormed off, actually. She refused to believe it was anything other than a coincidence, but she knew, deep down, that she was missing Draco terribly. And she was curious - they never had got to the third, and final, memory.

Ginny folded the robes carefully and hung them in her wardrobe, stroking the fabric tenderly. She could still use them, she still would. But it seemed kind of... pointless.

Ginny swallowed. Her throat felt dry, sore. So she crossed the room, slunk down the spiral staircase, and padded towards the Common Room to refill the water jug. When she got to the bottom of the staircase, though, and heard voices, she paused.

"Pass me that quill, will you Ron? Mine's splintered," Hermione was saying.

"Did you blot your essay?" her brother replied, concern in his voice. Ginny had never heard his voice that... tone. Over come by the urge to see what was going on, she poked her head out.

The two were right by the fire, the only people in the room. Hermione's head was bent over four or five consecutive scrolls, books piled around her. Ron had only one scroll, and only two books, but his brow was furrowed in concentration. Ginny didn't want to move for fear of disturbing anything.

"No, it's alright. Well, I did, but I'll clear it up--"

"I'll do it," Ron said quickly, pointing his wand at her scroll. Ginny saw Hermione glance at Ron, her eyes glinting in the fire light. Ron muttered the spell, and Hermione looked at her page.

"Thanks," she said. Ginny could tell she was trying to sound impartial, but she heard a distinct note of gratitude or... something, in Hermione's voice. She felt like she was intruding on something private, but couldn't turn away. For one thing, she was thirsty. For another, none of her brothers had ever missed a chance to eavesdrop on her.

Ron and Hermione had lapsed into silence. Ginny waited, but just as she was about to venture forward into the room, Hermione spoke again.

"What're you doing?"

Ron didn't look up. "Don't know what you mean..." Ginny heard amusement in his voice.

"Your foot," Hermione said slyly.

" 'Mione, I can't be held responsible for the actions of _every_ part of my body."

Hermione laughed. "Hmmm, I bet you can't."

"I mean," Ron said calmly, "just because my foot happens to have become rather attached to the back of your knee, doesn't mean I have any say in it..."

"Stop it, Ron," Hermione giggled. "That tickles! Stop it..." but she didn't sound very much like someone who objected to being tickled on the back of the leg. From what Ginny could ascertain, she was bloody well enjoying it. Urgh.

Ginny didn't really want to hear anymore. From where she was, she could just about see Ron watching Hermione collapsing, giggling, onto the hearth rug. And Ron disappearing from view after her. Oh, Merlin... Ginny was suddenly not so thirsty anymore. She spun around and sprinted back upstairs. Merlin, Merlin, Merlin...

* * *

As encouraging as sly glances and perpetual red-faces were to Ginny, she couldn't help thinking that nothing had really come of what she overheard. For a start, Ron and Hermione were not exactly acting like a couple. Well, they were, but more like an old married couple than anything else - constantly sniping and arguing. Ginny knew they only did it because it was the only way to get the other's attention, but it just struck her as silly prevarication.

She wouldn't do that to Draco.

She told herself off mentally. She had to stop thinking of everything in relation to how Draco would react to it. She'd got into a nasty habit of that.

She was on her way down towards lessons the next morning, and had watched them and Harry all through breakfast. She had five minutes before lessons began, so she sped up and tugged firmly on Harry's bag strap as he walked ahead of her. He turned around. He was getting quite tall, she realised.

"Ginny? What's up?"

She steeled herself, pulling him back from all other students in the corridor, though of course they looked anyway. She lowered her voice.

"Look, Harry, I just wanted to talk to you about the Ball."

He frowned. "You're still coming with me, right? I haven't got time to find another date now, Gin."

"No, no, I'll still come. I just wanted to make sure we're clear on a couple of things."

"Like what?"

"Like," she drew a breath. "Like, that we're only going as friends? Not as dates? This isn't leading up to anything, is it? You're not under the impression that something could happen? You know, between us."

Harry's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Is that what you thought? Ginny, no, you know where I stood on this, on _us_--"

"Yeah, I knew. I was just making sure you did, really." She grinned. "Great. See you, Harry - I'm late!"

Ginny was happy, for the first time in several days. She nearly bowled over a group of second years on their way to the bathroom as she headed quickly towards her Charms lesson, but, just as she turned into the corridor, she was nearly knocked flying by someone heading in the opposite direction as her. To her horror, she saw a flash of blond hair, a blur of green and silver tie, and a couple of puffy grey eyes. Draco.

He was gone in a swirl of cloak.

"Draco!" she yelled, dashing back to the corner. But she'd lost him in his hurry to leave. She scowled, turning back down the empty passage.

* * *

Comments... Please... 


	10. Lady In Red

**Lady In Red**

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_As Chief Inquisitor of the Department of Mysteries, it is my most solemn and earnestly humble duty to inform you, as their next-of-kin, that your parents' physical remains have been found yesterday, thirteen-hundred forty-five EST._

_Your late parents' bodies are being held at the Ministry of Magic until their funeral, which, according to their testament, will be held in the family's crypt at Malfoy Manor, in approximately two weeks' time._

_Please accept our most sincere regrets and condolences._

_Yours, &c._

_Romualda Singleton_

_Chief Inquisitor_

_Department of Mysteries_

Draco clutched the scroll tightly in his fist, re-reading its words. The fresh surge of tears brought on by the arrival of this letter had subsided, yes, but the tumult of raw emotion had yet to show any sign of depleting. His dormitory was freezing cold to him, despite the roaring fire in the grate, and the curtains pulled over the windows. He didn't want to leave the security of his bedroom, but there was one thing he couldn't, for the life of him, shake out of his mind - Ginny.

He needed her desperately. More desperately than he'd ever needed anything in his entire life - and the only way he was going to be able to get anywhere near her was to go to the Ball tonight. It was awful - he didn't want to see all those people having fun, enjoying themselves, acting as though nothing had happened. And seeing Ginny doing that exact same thing - and hanging around with Potter - was surely going to finish him off altogether. But he had to see her. Perhaps it was just stupid, idiotic and stupid, but he needed Ginny to know what he knew.

_Hang on, aren't you going to completely ruin her evening?_

He hadn't thought of that. How the bloody hell could he do that to her? He couldn't just blurt it out to her - what a way to spoil her night. And besides, he didn't really need her, did he?

_Yes..._

Shut up. He didn't really need her to listen, to hold his hand, to give him one big hug and make everything go away. Not really. No, he was strong - his father had made him that way for a reason.

_But your father never saw this coming, though, did he, eh? Bloody idiot thought he was damn well invincible._

Draco slammed the letter under his pillow.

"For God's sake, I can do this. I'll be _fine_," he said slowly, getting up, heading over to his trunk and pulling out his dress robes. He wrapped his fist in the fabric, feeling something shockingly inappropriate stir in his stomach. Something which involved Ginny, and an awful lot of scarlet satin.

Draco was disgusted with himself - they'd just found his parents' mangled corpses, and he was fantasising about silken copper-coloured hair, shiny satiny robes and freckled skin. And those big, brown eyes...

"Stop it!" he growled, whacking himself in the forehead with his palm. But now he'd let himself think about it - what would his parents' bodies even be like now? In one piece? He highly doubted it, some how. They'd found nothing but a finger of Peter Pettigrew - but his death had been fake. The Potters - they'd found nothing but the squashed remains of their house. Draco shivered involuntarily.

"Drac! Aren't you ready yet?" Blaise Zabini shoved open the door. "What's the matter, aren't you coming?"

The idea seemed to amuse him. He glanced pompously towards the robes in Draco's hands and the decided aggressive frown between his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Draco said clearly. "I'll catch you up, Blaise."

Blaise's smirk fell off his face instantly, and he slouched from the room.

"No backing out now," he muttered, pulling his leg into his trousers, sighing heavily.

* * *

He wasn't long - only a few minutes behind the others, but it was enough that he missed the official opening. He didn't care.

The Great Hall, resplendent as it always was for extraordinary occasions, seemed to glow with its own smugness - it was brighter and more beautiful than ever. It was a clear night - stars were twinkling softly over-head, the walls were bedecked with shimmering, translucent sheets of watery pinks and oranges, the High Table was heaving under tonnes of thick, sticky puddings and pointlessly under-sized portions of rich, heavy food, and various fountains filled with anti-alcohol, anti-stain punch were dotted at intervals around the walls. Draco felt none of it.

Already, there were people dancing. And worse, there were people already moving so close, in so tight a clinch with each other that it was impossible for anyone to assume they were not going to be that annoying lot of kissing, swooning, go-get-a-room types, who show everyone else up. Draco was normally amongst them. Today, however, he found he ignored them, and made a bee-line for a table in the corner, where Blaise and a group of Slytherins were already sitting, watching the rest of the room with cool, calculating gazes.

Draco was perfectly aware that he was having trouble keeping his gaze from wandering around the room like a search light, scanning for signs of Ginny, Potter, Weasley or Granger, or anyone remotely associated with Ginny. Unfortunately, he couldn't stop himself.

"Looking for someone?" Blaise said haughtily, Pansy Parkinson draped over his arm in a particularly smug fashion. Draco was given the undeniable impression of a younger, fitter lion challenging for a greying elder's pride.

"Potter," he said simply. "I want to see whether Weasley's managed to find a cheap enough pair of curtains to make a robe from yet," he added with bite.

Pansy laughed, but it appeared she did it grudgingly, as though out of politeness. Blaise, it seemed, found it equally un-amusing, and barely strained a smile. The rest, though, laughed heartily.

Blaise, who could see his lead slipping, tipped his head back, looked calmly down his nose, then said benignly,

"Really. I assumed you were looking for the sister - Miss Ginny Weasley."

The laugher that was left died instantaneously. Draco's voice hardened as he replied, very nearly gritting his teeth. If he made one bad remark about Ginny...

"And what would give you that impression, Blaise?"

"You just seemed a little... _attached_ to her lately, Draco. Of course, I could be mistaken. I'm sorry." Blaise's eyes glinted maliciously.

"Glad to hear you are," Draco said pleasantly, sipping his goblet of punch, his gaze fixed on the other Slytherin.

"I mean," Blaise continued, "I could be. However, I do not believe I am," he waved a nonchalant hand, "now if that were the case, we might have a small problem."

"And what would your problem with this hypothetical relationship with Ginny Weasley be?" Draco replied, attempting to keep his voice level, and failing.

"Oh, nothing, nothing, Draco. Actually forget I mentioned it - it really would be minuscule." Draco steeled himself, then listened with barely contained rage to the next words. "What is it to us if you cannot keep your overly-sentimental libido away from fornicating over filthy, red-haired, weasel, mud-blood-loving blood traitors?"

Draco was on his feet and round the table before his brain registered him doing so, his chair falling to the ground with an angry clatter.

"Say that again, Zabini!" he hissed, fisting his hand at Blaise's collar, "and I will tear your intestines out through your eye sockets and strangle you with them!"

"Malfoy!"

Hermione Granger was in front of him, her wand trained on his chest and her Prefect badge glinting from her other hand. Weasley appeared beside her, followed by Potter. Where was Ginny?

"Out, Malfoy," Granger was saying, slowly and firmly, as if he were five. "Go and calm down, before I get a teacher."

Draco took a long look at Granger, vaguely noted how pretty she looked, and how angry Weasley looked, how furious Potter was, how conceited Blaise was, and strode from the Hall.

Cool air hit his face as he left the Ball and stopped in the Entrance Hall, music reverberating dimly off the walls and echoing around the marble floor. He was, quite frankly, fuming. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like his heart was going to burst plainly through his ribs and choke to death on the ground, like everything was piling up, suffocating him, drowning him, swallowing him, getting on top of him...

"Draco?"

He looked up at the voice, and his mouth dropped open.

Ginny was there, coming down the stairs. Red hair, red dress, red lips, warm and kind and satiny...

He wished she'd get on top of him.

Then she was there, right in front of him. Reaching towards his face.

He was crying - he hadn't noticed. She was drying his face. _Oh Merlin, no, no, please, not like this, why did she have to see me like this?_

He bolted. Out, through the double doors, across the slope of the lawns, his breath hitching painfully in his chest, his footfalls thudding unevenly as he sprinted out towards where the lake met the trees. He stumbled, slipped, and tumbled down over a grass verge and through the undergrowth of the tall trees, skidding and landing with a dull scuffle on the cold, hard ground.

His head was pounding, his chest was so tight and constricted he actually feared for his life, but most worrying were the heavily, ununrestrainable sobs and wet splutters coming from his throat, making disgusting noises and pulling up all kinds of horrible wracking convulsions. He couldn't stop it, but he could just about make out what was around him, and he was astounded when he heard, then felt, Ginny's soft presence beside him. Then he felt a sudden, warm arm wrap itself around his chest as she curled up on his side, and her body lying next to him, her breath as drawn from running as his.

* * *

Eventually, he blinked, and realised his chest had eased, his breathing had calmed, and his eyes were suddenly dry. Well, it seemed sudden. But the darkness had sunk even more completely over the cold ground, obscuring everything more than a foot or two away from sight. But he didn't need sight to know Ginny was still there, a lot more clearly than before, her tiny little body curled strongly around his, her head on his back.

He didn't want to move. If he moved, she'd disappear into a puff of smoke and drift away on the breeze. And he'd become very used to her warm body next to him.

She shifted before him though, but it was only to move her arm out from under him. She raised a hand and he felt it catch in his hair just behind his ear, stroking slowly. He sighed.

"Draco?" she breathed, concern in every letter.

He shifted, pulling his own, rapidly numbing arm out from under him. He was glad it was dark - his face felt like it had swollen to twice its usual size.

"Yes?"

"You alright?"

He thought about it. No, was probably the honest answer. "Yeah," he said.

"No you're not," she said smilingly. "You're not alright at all - not since yesterday. What's happened, Drac?"

"Don't call me Drac, Ginny. There's an 'o' on the end."

"Draco," she corrected, smiling - he could feel it - softly. "What's happened?"

He dug around in his dress robe pocket, and shoved his letter into her hand. Then he sat bolt upright, and hugged his knees to his chest.

"They found your parents' bodies?" she repeated, and he could hear her frowning. "You mean--"

"What was left of them, anyway," he filled-in. "Yeah."

Ginny's hand had snaked around his waist again, but he pushed it away.

"I've ruined the Ball for you," he choked dumbly.

"Nah," she said lightly. "It's still early - it doesn't end for another few hours yet. Besides - this is more important." She shoved her arm back around his waist from behind, and he felt her head leaning on his back again. He covered her arm with his own. "Friends always get precedence, Draco - you should know that."

"I-- didn't," he finished lamely.

"Yeah, well, Slytherins make useless friends," she said softly. "Well, most of them."

He felt something that felt suspiciously like skin brush the back of his neck, and his whole body flushed. "Thanks," he muttered gruffly.

"I could get used to hearing that," she grinned.

"Yeah, well," he gulped. "I wouldn't if I were you."

She chuckled: a light, fluid sound that made his chest expand.

"Don't count on that, Draco. How are you feeling now?"

"Better," he said honestly.

"Good. But we are not going anywhere just yet."

"We're not?" he swallowed.

"Nope. You're going to just sit here, quietly, and try your best to relax. You need to get some of this raw emotion under control if you want to be alright with the Slytherins later."

"I don't want to go back in there," he said quickly.

"Nonsense, Malfoy," she said kindly. "I'm coming with you. Hold your hand if you want me too," she joked. He wished she hadn't been joking.

"Okay," he said, eventually. He turned around, a sudden thought catching him. But as he opened his mouth to discuss it, he paused. "What's that?" he asked.

"What?"

"This," he reached towards the expanse of smooth, clear skin at her chest. He fingered Ginny's necklace in his hand. It was his ring, his silver signet ring. His dragon.

"Oh, I found it. It reminded me of you, actually."

"That's because it's mine. I left it on the stairway rail when I thought you'd been..." he trailed off, embarrassed to think he'd ever doubted her. But Ginny put her hand in his, around his ring.

"You can have it back."

"No," he said quickly, smiling awkwardly in the darkness. "You can keep it. Forever."

"Forever?"

"Forever."

There was a long, soft pause. Draco was terrified of the undisclosed distance between Ginny and him, or more specifically, the undisclosed distance between their mouths - he had a sudden, near-impossible urge to kiss her - and it was bloody scary.

"Draco."

"Yes?"

"You wanted to ask me something, didn't you?"

"Oh. Yeah, right. Erm..."

"What is it? I'm cold - I'd like to go back inside."

"Oh, okay. I - er... I wanted to know if you would... If you'd come to my parents' funeral with me, actually. It's alright if you don't, I mean, it's not like it's the sort of thing you'd want to--"

"Draco."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up - of course I'll come. What're friends for?"

* * *

_Sorry for the delay - long story. Chapter Eleven up a.s.a.p!_


	11. Better With Two

**Better With Two**

"You don't want to go back in, do you?" Ginny asked, as they wandered as slowly as possibly back towards the castle. Draco was delaying, having tied his shoelace three times, tried to engage her interest in some sort of star formation twice, and was currently doing his best to convince her that it wasn't really _that _cold.

He smirked. "What gave you that idea?" he said, oozing sarcasm. He shook his head. "No. I only came because I knew you'd be coming too. Though, now I think about it, it would have been even worse if I'd have had to be openly horrible to you."

"I know. It isn't easy. But unfortunately it's the only way. If the Slytherins found out..."

She trailed off.

She hated this. She hated the fact that she couldn't talk to him anymore, that every sentence was full of regret and sadness, that every pause was so thick and heavy that it was more suffocating than liberating. And now she had the situation of the funeral to consider on top of everything else...

Draco's hand brushed hers gently, and before she could react he'd enveloped her hand in his, and was holding it tightly. She looked down at their joined hands, trying to make sense of it.

"You're worried," he said.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Tell me."

She knew it was useless to pretend.

"How in the name of Merlin are we going to do this, Draco? I'm a Weasley. I look like a Weasley, I act as a Weasley acts. I'm inherently a Muggle-loving piece of vermin. How am I going to negotiate my way into your parents' funeral?"

Draco, surprisingly, smirked again. She'd missed that self-confident expression. She felt like he was actually beginning to get back to being reasonably happy. Well, if not happy, at least recovering. It made her feel incredibly more comfortable in his presence.

"I think I have a way."

She frowned. "How?"

"Trandesempra."

At the blank look on Ginny's face, Draco smiled. This was different to his smirk. She liked this Draco. This Draco could completely melt all her insides and make her shiver at the same time.

"Transdesempra is a charm that changes the superficialities of a person to alter their appearance temporarily."

Ginny frowned. "So how come people don't use it instead of Polyjuice Potion?"

"You can't get specific results good enough to completely mimic another person. It's sort of... vague."

Ginny couldn't help but smile. "Should I be worried? Can you perform it without me ending up looking like a toad?"

Draco smiled arrogantly. "Of course, this is _me_ we're talking about."

"Hmm. You know you're entirely too full of yourself Malfoy."

"What would you rather I was full of?"

Ginny smiled smoothly. "I think the issue is rather what you'd like to fill me with."

She saw Draco blink, surprised. "Two can play at that game, Draco. In fact, it's usually better with two."

Draco laughed suddenly. "I've severely underestimated you, Ginny."

"Yeah. You probably have."

* * *

"How long until the Ball's set to end, Gin?"

"Don't call me 'Gin', _Drac_, makes me sound like a cheap liquor. And we've got about three hours left. Why?"

"I've just had an idea."

"Did it hurt?"

Draco pushed Ginny on the shoulder, and she shoved back playfully.

"As a matter of fact, it felt quite good," Draco joked, making Ginny's stomach flare. "Now, as we appear to have enough time, d'you think I could show you this?" He pulled the jar with the third and final memory held within from the depths of his robes.

Ginny grinned. "Brilliant idea. Let's sit--"

She pulled him down so they were sat, side-by-side, on the stone steps outside the castle doors. Draco unscrewed the lid of the shallow pot and placed it on the step between their feet. Under the pretence of looking into the silvery glow, Ginny leant right over Draco, sliding her palm down his leg. Draco coughed firmly, in the back of his throat, but didn't say anything except,

"Ready?"

"Uh-huh. Let's go."

Ginny blinked. Her eyes, previously adjusted to the darkened grounds, were having problems with the sudden glare of torch-light. Well, at least she didn't feel cold anymore.

They'd arrived in the centre of a huge room, lined with intricate black and silver tapestries and drapes, with huge gilt frames and woodwork. In the centre of the cavernous ceiling hung a large, heavy chandelier, set with at least fifty tall, spindly dark green candles.

Ginny shivered. "Where are we?" She glanced at tall, thin windows, outside of which rain was pouring, running thickly down the planes, distorting the blackened skies.

"My parents' master bedroom," Draco said, sighing. "I hate it. Always have."

Ginny could understand why. It was the coldest, most intimidating bedroom she'd ever seen.

At that moment, the door burst open, smashing into the skirting board. Narcissa Malfoy strode into the room, fuming, and closely followed by a very worried looking Neviera. But however angry Narcissa was, Lucius, who stormed through the door just after, and slammed it shut again, was worse.

Both parents turned on Neviera, drawing their wands and pointing them straight at her.

"Perhaps you could explain to us," Narcissa bit out through tightly clenched teeth, "what in the name of Salazar you were doing."

Neviera glared at the floor for a few seconds, then lifted her eyes to Narcissa's.

"I'm afraid I don't entirely understand, Mrs Malfoy."

"Like hell you don't, Neviera. _Muggle Magic_."

"Draco wished to read--"

"But you know that book is forbidden to him! He is at an impressionable age!"

"Why is being impressioned to believe that this book is bad so important? It is a perfectly harmless book, Mrs Malfoy."

"Not for_ us_, Neviera, and you knew that."

There was a dangerous, stony silence in the room. Ginny could see Lucius Malfoy, his teeth gritted, massaging the silver snake head atop his cane menacingly. It made Ginny feel a little bit sick.

Starting, she felt Draco place a hand firmly on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah. Yes, I'm fine," she lied. She had a horrible feeling that something awful was about to happen. Shortly afterwards, she saw why.

Without warning, Lucius Malfoy sprung forward, pulled back his cane, and in a flash of reflected candle light and jet black hair, Ginny saw Neviera recoil, her face in her hands.

"I want you out of my house!" Lucius roared, baring down on her. Ginny held her breath as he pulled Neviera to her feet by her hair. There was a bloody bruise on her left cheek. "Now!"

Narcissa did not defend Neviera, but turned her wand to the door, which burst open. "Out," she repeated frigidly.

Neviera took several heavy breaths, yanked her hair free, and turned to face the two Malfoys. Then, quicker than either of Draco's parents, she drew her wand and threw it out towards them, saying nothing. But the un-spoken spell hit each heavily in their stomachs and slammed them into the opposite wall.

"I hope you realise what you're making of your son," she said sadly, before turning on her heel and storming from the room.

Ginny swallowed, trying to remember when she'd become so breathless.

Draco didn't say anything, but slid his hand into hers and pulled her across the room. Ginny felt his palms were damp, and shaking slightly, but as he stepped over his parents' unconscious forms, his strides were even and level.

He pulled open a closet door, that Ginny previously hadn't noticed. Crouched inside was the small, shaking form of eight-year-old Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Ginny squeezed the hand in hers.

"Two weeks later, my parents sat me down and told me Neviera was dead."

Ginny frowned, pretending that this information hadn't shocked or stung her. "How did she die?" she asked instead, trying and failing to keep the waver out of her voice.

"I was never told," Draco replied coolly.

* * *

When they returned to the castle, Draco immediately dropped her hand and strode off, back towards the open doors, through which light was pouring onto the grass.

"Where are you going?" she asked loudly.

"Back to bed," he shouted back, waving her off.

Furious with his sudden reversion to old form, Ginny ran after him, pulled him to a halt by grabbing the lapels of his robes and placing herself in his path.

"Get out of the way, Ginny!"

"D'you know what I just realised, Malfoy?"

"What?" he spat.

"Your robes."

Draco sneered at her. "Oh?"

"Yes. None of your usual extravagancy. You look like a monk."

Draco looked down towards his black robes, thrown off.

And with that, Ginny pointed her wand directly at Draco's collar. A thin, silvery line of shimmery thread wove through the clear air, wavering slightly in the wind, and began weaving through the fabric, embroidering.

"Why are you doing this, Ginny?" Draco asked quietly, while Ginny guided the thread with her wand.

"Why am I doing what, exactly, Draco?" she replied innocently, glancing at him. His eyes were strangely dark, but glimmered in the torchlight.

"You know. You could cut your losses if you wanted to. You shouldn't have to deal with this," he jerked his head back, indicating the rest of the room. "You wouldn't come off any worse."

She tipped her head forward slightly, dropped her wand, and smoothed the fabric over his collar and chest, smiling to herself. Then she looked straight up into his face.

"Yes, I would," she said plainly.

He smiled. "Really?"

"It'd be bloody painful, Draco, and not just physically. Two months isn't a long time. It's long enough to know I can't quite do without you, though. I'm afraid you're stuck with me, Drakey."

She reached up and tugged Draco to her, hugging him. She felt him pushing his nose into her neck, breathing into her hair, his palms rubbing up and down her back. She didn't know quite how long they were there like that, and Ginny couldn't begin to hazard a guess.

"You know what else I realised?" she said to his neck.

"What?" came the muffled reply.

"You always, _always_ try to shut everyone out, especially when you're upset or angry. And it's getting rather irritating, to be honest Draco. So I'd appreciate it if you could bloody well cut it out." She felt him chuckle into her shoulder.

"I'll do my best."

"Sure you will."

She pulled back slightly, enough to see his face.

"Shall we go back in?"

He nodded, smiling slightly.

"What are you smiling for?"

He shrugged. "I've never had this before," he said softly. "It's incredible."

Hoping to lighten the mood, Ginny laughed. "Thanks, you're not so bad yourself!"

And she fully let go of him. Draco looked a little stung, but nodded. "Okay."

Ginny started back up the steps, flattening her dress and cleaning off mud with her wand.

"We should probably go back in separately," she said distractedly. "It'll be suspicious if we come back together..." It was a few moments before she realised Draco wasn't following her. She glanced back over her shoulder.

"Draco?"

The light falling on his face made it look even more ghostly pale than usual, but it was the strangely un-identifiable expression in his grey eyes that worried Ginny.

"What is it?"

"This," he said. "All this sneaking and spying and hiding. I'm sick of it Ginny, I'm bloody sick of it." And with that, he, for the third time that night, grabbed hold of her hand and dragged her off, up the steps, through the Entrance Hall, and straight through the doors to the Ball.

* * *

The stunned silence was not immediate. It was like all the talk in the room gradually drained away as they crossed, initially un-noticed, from the door, working their way nimbly through the people amassed nearer the dancefloor, until Draco could not quite slip easily through them. Ginny took over and finished the leading, pulling Draco with her slightly smaller body as the density of the people thinned and they slipped out onto the floor. Still leading him, Ginny placed his hands at her waist and shoulder, and allowed him to take charge again.

By now they were in such prominent view that all the people surrounding them stopped moving, and stared blatantly. Ginny was barely containing a strange, strangled writhing in her belly, but she was grinning. Her inappropriate feelings of elation increased ten-fold when she heard a dull tinkling crash, and knew that Ron had just dropped something. She saw Draco grinning over her shoulder, and she looked back.

Ron was bright purple, furious trying to wrap his senses around what he was seeing. Harry seemed dumb-founded. Hermione was swallowing repeatedly, and Ginny saw her hands drifting unconsciously outwards towards Harry and Ron's arms. Good thing they did too, because almost simultaneously, Harry and Ron started yelling, and threw themselves forward. Hermione grabbed them both by the collars, and yanked them back, surprising them both. It, however, failed altogether to deter them as they shook themselves free and charged straight at Draco.

It all happened in a flash. Draco threw himself in front of Ginny, Ginny shoved her wand forwards under Draco's arm, Hermione turned hers to Draco, and Harry and Ron hit Ginny's spell head-on, flying backwards into the buffet table, splattering food everywhere and slumping to the ground, wild bat-bogeys flapping furosiously at their heads.

Somehow, in the middle of the aftermath, the flabbergasted silence which had become almost tangible in the Great Hall was broken by Luna Lovegood. Clapping.

Ginny blinked, and glanced around, Draco doing likewise. The pupils littering the room where breaking into spontaneous applause. As it built to a heavy tumult, even Hermione gave up and joined in, resignedly. Ginny was panting, her chest heaving. But she laughed. So did Draco.

* * *

_Well, here we are again, the end of another chapter. Once again your critisms, reviews and ideas are greatfully received._


	12. I Feel

_Oh my Lord, I am so very very sorry that this has taken so long. Besides the fact that I had writer's block, my beta-tester has been MIA for a while. So, the position's open, if anyone wants to volunteer! _

_Anyway, I hope you like this. It's not as polished as I would like (see above) but the essentials are there. Let me know about any major mistakes and I'll try to correct them._

* * *

**I Feel**

Ginny recognised Malfoy Manor immediately, as she stepped out of a horse-drawn carriage behind Draco, but there was something eerily quiet and ominous about it, seeing it from a distance, windows lit up against an inky sky. Draco had offered her his hand when she'd clambered from the box, and now hooked it, with apparent ease, around his own. Draco himself was finding the uncomfortable, heavy sickness turning in the pit of his stomach completely nauseating.

Draco led Ginny up the long, sloping path, his footsteps irritatingly heavy. Every time he took a step, a heavy weight in his chest increased ten-fold, until they reached the front door.

"OK," Draco said eventually, when they'd paused, quiet, outside the mahogany front doors. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Ginny replied, shaking her hair out of her eyes and taking a short step backwards, then taking out her wand and placing its tip on her chest.

Draco pulled his own wand from his inside pocket.

"_Trandesempra_," he murmured. A bright white light shot from the end of the wand, and enveloped Ginny's wand, travelling up and into her body. For a moment she glowed bright white - Draco put his arm up to shield his eyes - before the light died down, and Draco blinked.

A long curtain of glossy black hair rolled over her shoulder, just as long as her own, but straight and sleek. Her freckles had completely blended with her new, ivory skin, and her clothes were now dusty pink and aquamarine. Her eyelashes were long and black now too, but her eyes were still hazel, and still held a look of cautious but unwavering curiosity.

"Well?" she asked, swallowing nervously.

"Bloody hell," Draco choked, looking at her. "You look... different."

Fear flashed straight from the depths of Ginny's eyes.

"I liked you better as yourself," Draco said firmly, smiling at her. Ginny sighed.

"Now I know you're after something," she said, feigning non-chalance, but Draco could see by the way she was biting down on her bottom lip that she was nervous. He wished he could do anything to banish her nerves. Before they moved towards the door, Draco put his hand on the back of Ginny's neck, on her strange new black hair, and kissed her forehead.

"Thanks for this, Ginny," he said, hoping she understood just how much he was dreading having to take her inside, just how grateful he was that she would put herself in this position for him. She was smiling slyly, through her weirdly dark eyelashes, but he could see straight past them into her fathomlessly brown eyes. Taking her hand in his firmly, and trying to swallow a heavy gulp of what could possibly be vomit, he led Ginny into the Manor.

* * *

"Draco! You're here at last!" Draco cringed, his shoulders lifting involuntarily. Keeping a tight grip on Ginny's hand, he turned around, slowly. 

"Aunt Calestia."

"And who is this?" Calestia was a strong woman, with a large head and huge hair, curly hair. She bore almost no resemblance at all to Draco but, Ginny thought, a striking resemblance of stature to her own mother - short, and dangerous.

"This is Reia, Aunt Calestia. Reia Harrow. She attends Hogwarts with me."

Ginny smiled and bowed slightly, but said nothing.

"Harrow. I do not know the family. Is she... pure, Draco?"

Draco smiled, one of his cold, old smiles that Ginny barely recognised.

"Obviously, Aunt Calestia. I wouldn't have it any other way, of course."

"Absolutely. Now, Reia, we will talk later," Calestia ordered. "You will have one of the elves take up your things. Draco - you need to sleep. Everyone else arrives tomorrow."

"Is she really your aunt?" Ginny asked quietly, as they made their way up a massive marble staircase in the main hall, their foot steps echoing around the room. She was remembering the Black family tapestry from Grimmauld place.

"No - she's a... great-great, thrice-removed half-aunt type thing. I forget the exact relationship between her and myself."

"Right." They turned left at the top of the entrance hall, walked to the end of a corridor, and stepped onto a small staircase lined with green carpet, Ginny following Draco all the way. She found it hard to believe anyone could actually live somewhere like here, especially when she thought of her own house.

"You OK?" Draco asked, as the staircase opened onto a walkway over-looking a huge cavernous room, with a glossy black floor reflective as glass, and windows that reached the ceiling, throwing moonlight on to the ice-like stone. It was a ballroom.

"Yeah, I'm... fine..." Ginny said slowly, staring at a giant crystal chandelier.

Draco did not press the point, but directed her through a rather grandly panelled door leading off from the walkway. "Here."

The room was spectacular. If Ginny was honest with herself, she could honestly see the contents of this room being worth more than her entire house back in Ottery St Catchpole. Everything in the room was luxurious. The bed covers looked, to Ginny's eye, to be Egyptian cotton, the hangings and curtains silk, light and airy, with a warm breeze - probably charmed - blowing in through the tall windows, stirring them. Dark oak or some other hard wood comprised the furniture, all simple, functional, spaciously laid out. Gently patterned walls and soft candle light...

"Oh my word..." Ginny breathed.

Draco chuckled. "And, it's en suite."

Ginny laughed. "It'd better be..."

Draco took her hand again. "Come on, I'll show you my room."

"Bet you say that to all the girls..."

"Actually, no," said Draco. "I don't like people in my room."

Draco's room was only two doors further down, and it was enormous. This did not surprise Ginny in the slightest, however - with the combined information that was her knowledge of her own room, and the fact that she had always imagined Draco to have a huge bedroom to match his huge ego. Well... previously huge ego. A huge, green bedroom. But she was mistaken about the last part. Draco's room was black.

Very black. Ornately black, with silver gilding on the posts on his bed, with held up heavy black velvet hangings with silver edging. The walls were black - matt paper with a glossy, snake-like pattern. His furniture was of a wood so dark that it might as well been black, and the floor, of the same, curiously cold material, was covered only under the bed by a rug.

"This is horrible," Ginny said, glancing at the velvet curtains shutting out the moonlight from the lamp lit room.

"I know," Draco replied, closing the door gently. "It's always been this way. Mother wanted something lighter but..."

"But your father always gets his way," she supplied.

"Always got his way," Draco corrected. "Yes."

Draco stood in stony silence for several minutes. His mouth looked very thin and his face seemed even paler than usual. Ginny approached him, and fitted herself under his arms, leaning her head on his chest. Slowly, she felt Draco return her embrace, pushing his nose into her hair - her strange, black hair - and clinging tightly around her waist.

When Ginny looked up, it must've been many moments later, Draco's eyes were pink, his face blotchy. Desperately, she groped for something to use to cheer him. Putting on a tone she rarely used, Ginny looked around.

"Oh my God," she said.

"What?"

"I can't believe I'm in Draco Malfoy's bedroom," she said, in a slightly higher tone than her usual. "If my parents could see me now!"

Spluttering, Draco laughed. "If my parents could see you now! I can't imagine they'd be ecstatic to hear it either."

"They'd kill me," Ginny said happily. "It's fantastic. I've never done anything this... bad, before."

He laughed again. " 'Bad'? I'll try not to be too insulted..."

"Do. For now, I'm just revelling on having something on my parents."

"While you're there, you could revel in having something on Pansy too. She's never been in here either."

"Really? I always thought, you two--"

"No."

"Oh. Alright. I stand corrected."

Draco smiled and nodded. "Feel free to sit corrected," he said, gesturing.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to nose around. Before I do though, are there any places you'd rather I avoided, that I didn't look?"

He knew what she was asking, she could tell. She was asking if there was anything Dark, or dangerous, anything that he did not wish her to see.

"No where. There is nothing," he said firmly.

This time she understood his meaning: 'No. I'm not like them.'

"OK then," she smiled. She went to the window, and pulled back a curtain. From here she could see, delicately picked out in the moonlight, the slopping lawn, the thicket of orchard, the gravel pathway, and the meadow - neglected and overgrown as it was. Ginny was aware that Draco was watching her as she travelled from the window to the bookshelf. How could she not, when he'd fixed her under such a scrupulous gaze.

Ginny ran her fingers over the spines of the book covers, eyeing the titles.

"I always thought you and Potter..." Draco said abruptly.

"No," Ginny said, looking towards where he'd sat on the bed. "We did, but not any more." She smiled. "He's way too noble for my liking."

"For mine too," Draco smirked. But his face soon fell again, and he put his head in his hands. Ginny hurried over and knelt next to him, drawing him into a hug. She muttered something indiscriminate and consoling, hating herself for saying something so bland and colourless. She tried to make up for it by holding tighter around Draco's shoulders.

"I miss her, Gin, I really do. I didn't think I would, but I miss my Mother. I don't care about my bloody Father, but Mum... I wish she was still here... I feel..."

"How do you feel?" Ginny asked, pulling back, tilting her head to see him. There was a long, very quiet, very awkward pause. Draco licked his bottom lip.

"I feel like I want to kiss you," he whispered.

Ginny blinked, and shook her head a minuscule amount. "I'd feel like I was taking advantage," she said, looking at his weakened, vulnerable state.

"I feel like maybe I want you to take advantage," Draco breathed softly.

* * *

_OK guys, what did you think? Let me know. Don't worry, writer's block had been eradicated and I'm back on form - so it shouldn't be months before the next one!_


	13. The Weak and the Needy

**The Weak and the Needy**

There was something hot and pungent in the air tonight, something that Draco was not used to feeling in his own back garden. There was an oppressive aroma of wild mushroom and damp foliage, a musty, heavy kind of smell that not only permeated the thick air but Draco's very skin, slipping into his lungs and body and blood with every breath he took as he marched away from the house.

His mind was as full of thoughts as his nostrils were of the smell of the woods. They were wild thoughts, apparently unordered and dissolute, slipping away just as he seemed to grasp solidly on to one, and he couldn't find a straight line of rational thought. His foot steps seemed to eat up the ground underneath him as he moved noisily through the foliage, feeling the damp air catching in his chest.

He wasn't crying. For heaven's sake, he'd done enough crying over the last few months to last him a life time. What was eating at his insides was sheer confusion. He could not comprehend what could have gone wrong, what he could have done wrong, if indeed he had done anything. Ginny's refusal felt more to him like a shove on the shoulder than a smack in the face - its intention had been clear, but its implementation so gentle that he didn't really understand how her refusal was not coming from the same feelings of fondness as his were.

Now he had a chance to contemplate, as he wandered the woods, on what he actually did feel for Ginny. He was certain beyond doubt that he was attracted to her - that much was obvious. And of course, he respected and appreciated her help over the last few weeks. But when exactly had she gone from Ginny-the-friend to Ginny-I-want-you-to-kiss-me-now? He didn't think he could name an exact date - it was all so blurred and confused that one day he had hated her and everything she stood for, the next he was laughing with her as she charmed first-years' library books to leap energetically from their bags and trip them up. Of course everytime she'd done that, she'd laughed heartily for a moment, then hurried over, apologised profusely, thanked the first year and conjured them chocolate.

Apparently that was the difference between himself and Ginny. She knew where to draw a line, and he did not. The problem was that at the moment her line fell under 'friends', and his was completely out of sight somewhere near the edge of the scale entirely.

What had she said again? As she was leaving?

Draco passed through the edge of the wooded glen down the side of which he had been declining, and stepped out onto the edge of the orange groves. Ordinarily of course, oranges were Mediterranean fruits, thriving in hot, humid weather and blooming into sweet rounds of tender flesh, but this grove had been charmed since his infancy to produce Sicilian weather.

The sharp, citric tang of their distinctive smell caught on the wind immediately made Draco think of Ginny. _Though of course_, Draco considered, plucking one of the fruits from the nearest tree, _everything reminds me of her._

What was he to do now? Could he go back? Apologise? Make amends and tell her to pretend it never happened? Impossible. He loved her.

Draco choked on his orange. What?

_You said you love her._

Did not.

_Shut up. We all heard you._

Draco looked up from his location, back up towards the Manor, where he knew Ginny was most likely sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the walls, wondering what the hell was going to happen now, just as he was.

She'd point blank refused him of course.

"No, Draco, I can't," she'd said, shaking her head again. For one tiny little second, she'd seemed to lean in towards him, and regardless of her previous words, not half a minute out of her mouth, he'd felt this great flare of warmth in his chest and his heart had almost stopped. He'd thought for all his life that she was going to kiss him.

All she'd been doing, however, was getting herself up off his bed so she could bolt from the room.

He sat there, on a tree stump at the edge of the grove, nursing his way into his orange, pulling the skin off and feeling the juices run down his fingertips and then tingle from the insistently cool breeze. He glanced up briefly, and saw the light in Ginny's guest room window turn off. He couldn't help but see a different scenario in his head, the one where she hadn't refused. He'd have been there with her now, lying next to her. Sleeping probably - he was a gentleman after all.

Merlin. In the morning he was going to have to face her, wasn't he? He was going to have to laugh it off, say he was only joking, or that he had been upset and vulnerable. Sorry for having done that, for having put her in that position. Truth be told though, there were numerous other positions he'd like to put her in besides. Draco could almost taste her. It was an orange, and he knew it was an orange that he was holding to his mouth, but it still made him think of Ginny.

_Are you changing the subject? You said you loved her._

I did, didn't I?

* * *

I did, didn't I?

I refused Draco Malfoy.

Ginny had been beside herself. She'd tried to read, and had failed. She'd tried pacing. She'd tried screaming as quietly as she could. She'd tried ordering something to drink, but she hated asking favours of house elves, even if that was what they were there for.

Eventually she got dressed for bed, crawled under her giant duvet cover, and wished she was at home, tucked up in her tiny bedroom, listening to the birds nested in the tree next to her window singing. Here all she heard was Draco's bedroom door open. For a very, very long few seconds before she'd heard him descending the stairs, she'd been certain he was going to come in. Her chest had tightened so she could hardly breathe, and as for her head... Her mind felt heavy, like a soaked sponge having reached saturation point.

She sat up. There was no way she could sleep with so much stuff going on in her head.

Light was pouring in through the window, and instantly she could feel the tug of that celestial body hanging up there pulling at her.

The glass was pleasantly cool against her fingers when she pressed her palms to the window. She hadn't thought she was feeling that over heated, but now she was out of bed she could feel where the cool air was tickling a damp area on the small of her back. Quietly she lifted her T-shirt over her stomach and pressed her belly to the glass as well. Why was she suddenly feeling so warm?

Wrapping her arms around her, she wandered back across the room. She didn't have a destination, but apparently couldn't sit still. She wanted sleep. She wanted to just close her eyes and drift off, and in the morning everything would be fine. Where was Draco anyway?

Where the hell had that come from? Ginny shook her head. There had been a sudden, rather violent curiosity about where he was, what he was doing, and if he was okay. Sometimes her own arrogance surprised her, but this time she perhaps had a reason. If someone puts themselves on the line and gets knocked back, it can do funny things to their sense of self, and she was concerned about his well-being. Merlin knows, she'd been there.

All of a sudden, she was thinking about Harry. As nice and wonderful and kind and noble as Harry undoubtedly was, he wasn't Draco. Where Harry was impulsive and reckless, Draco was cautious and determined. Where Harry was soft and toned and pleasant, Draco was rough and sharply acerbic. Harry was noble and selfless, but Draco went straight after what he wanted. And apparently he wanted her. She wondered how long it would be before he got it.

Her mind's thoughts were careening out of control, and she was stuck watching all sorts of ideas and images crossing her mind. Watching Harry leaning down to kiss her after that Quidditch match the year before, watching Dean and Thomas, watching Draco, sitting there in front of her on her bed, his eyes glued to her mouth. Watching him crying, watching Harry with tears rolling down his face, seeing Draco being attacked by one of her own bat-bogey hexes, seeing Harry and Ron fly back into that table, feeling Draco pressed against her when they hugged or danced at the Hallowe'en Ball...

She shook herself out of it suddenly. She couldn't think like that.

Eventually she got her thoughts together enough to realise she was still very thirsty. Walking in a kind of daze, she left her room and tried to find the kitchens.

* * *

Draco had absolutely no idea, though, why she had said no. She quite blatantly had not let herself give the idea a chance, not even a brief hearing. That annoyed him. It was quite simply, rather unjust, he thought.

Still, there must have been a reason for it. Perhaps she'd already considered and rejected the idea. Perhaps there was someone else. _Well_, Draco thought, _it certainly isn't the second one. We're so close. She would have told me if there was somebody else._

_How well do you actually know her, anyway?_

He suddenly found himself doubting his own appraisal of her character. He'd thought he knew her exceptionally well. He'd even thought he had a leg-up on Potter when it came down to understanding the turbulent character that was Ginevra Weasley. Apparently not.

Returning from the orange groves in the dead of night, Draco passed through the double doors into the summer house at the back of the manor. Light was spilling serenely through the tall windows onto the checked patterns of tile on the floor. Actually though, thinking about it, Draco decided he couldn't call Ginny turbulent, not from what he'd seen. Throughout their friendship, she'd always been unfailingly calm and respectful and perceptive. She'd seen straight into him, understood his very inner workings, and liked what she saw. Or he'd thought she had. Maybe she was just like all the others.

_This bond was not one way_, Draco thought. He knew her. Even if he didn't have the evidence, he knew in his gut that her feelings and instinct warred within her, fighting her outer composure. She'd been like a rock to him, and Draco loved her for it. Draco looked back. There were only two occasions that he'd seen her really genuinely disconcerted. Once, when she'd been enveloped by his memory and had panicked slightly, and before, in his room, when she'd run from his advances.

He'd helped her before, to steady herself. He suddenly found it incredibly stupid and selfish that he hadn't helped her again, now, after all she'd done for him. He needed to reassure her. If she really cared about him as much as he did about her - and his gut was helping him she did - then he needed to see her. His friendship with her was more important than anything else. He had to preserve it, no matter what. He had to be able to help her as she helped him so many times before.

Running his hand vaguely through his hair, Draco set off with a determined stride for Ginny's room, through the summer house, passed the pantry, into the kitchen--

And stopped dead.

Ginny was sitting on a counter top, her legs tucked underneath her, with a bowl of strawberry ice cream resting on her knee. She looked up, pulling a silver spoon out of her mouth.

Draco took in her appearance, sizing her up. Her hair had turned back from billowing black curtain to thick cinnamon locks again, her big brown eyes fixed solidly on his. Her mouth quirked up on one side.

"You look like you're in a hurry," she said quietly, evenly.

Draco shrugged. "I was going to make sure you were alright." He glanced at the bowl. "Evidently it was unnecessary," he added, smirking.

She nodded, placing her spoon back into the bowl and putting it onto the counter top. "I can fend for myself when required," she replied, smiling. One of her easy, bright smiles, one of the ones he'd missed.

"I'm sorry," Draco blurted out suddenly.

She grinned. "I know." She paused, looking at her hands. "You can't help how you feel."

"Neither can you," he returned quickly, peering at her through the dark kitchen. He saw her eyes flicker up and pin him where he stood. He swallowed, then ventured. "I know I upset you."

She shook her head. "You didn't upset me. You confused me."

This time, he nodded. "Alright then, confused you. I came to tell you that whatever I said, you can pretend you never heard. I'll never mention it again, if you want. You're too important to me to loose over this." He realised his voice had gone a little bit scratchy, and closed his mouth.

Ginny was still staring at him, and it made him incredibly uncomfortable.

"Here," she said, offering him the bowl.

Reflexively, he cocked an eyebrow. "Strawberry ice cream?"

"Don't deny it's your favourite, I have my sources."

He laughed. "You know me too well."

He grabbed the spoon and dug in, finding his appetite returning with a vengeance. Ginny slid down off the counter and lent at his side. It was probably the ice cream that distracted him, because he didn't realise Ginny had been quietly contemplating him for the last several minutes. He didn't look up. He was determined not to fold this time. He was going to break down one of her barriers if it was the last thing he did.

"Confused in what way?" he said.

There was a long pause, silence lay like carpet across the room. He heard one of the clocks upstairs chiming two o'clock.

"Two halves of me warring."

He nodded. He took another mouthful and kept his eyes on the bowl.

"One half," he said slowly, praying he was right, certain he was right, "was terrified of putting yourself in a position of vulnerability. The other, scared of hurting someone you cared about by letting them down further on." He looked up, he couldn't help himself. What he saw made his insides squirm.

Ginny's hazel eyes were looking straight into his silver ones, wide and open. Then all of a sudden she blinked and the shutters went up and she turned around. Draco calmly put the bowl down, placed the spoon into it, and moved it carefully to one side.

Slowly and deliberately, he placed his hands around Ginny's smaller ones, gently pinning her between him and the kitchen sideboard. She couldn't meet his eyes.

He waited, patiently, for her resolve to break and for her to glance up.

"Father always taught me to go after what I wanted, Ginny. So what happens if I can't have it?"

Ginny laughed tensely. "D'you realise how selfish that sounded?" she choked, trying to joke.

"Yes," he replied. "Luckily I can redeem myself."

Ginny glared at him. "What about what I want?" she asked, her tiny voice not matching the strength of her eyes.

"You want it too," he murmured quietly, advancing on her. "Whether you realise it or not is another matter entirely..."

Ducking his head, because she tried to move away, he rested his lips over hers. He could feel a few soft puffs of air hitting his face as she shifted slightly, straightening herself against him. With the patience of a Saint, he thought, he waited for curiosity to over come her, until he felt one of her lips move and part his, resting warmly between the two of his. His chest felt like it was going to explode, but he was pretty sure that if he let himself celebrate she'd be pulled away from him.

He tasted strawberries and syrup, and suddenly her body was pressed fiercely against his, her own mouth was pushing him back, unpinning herself, twisting them round so that his back was rammed against the cabinets. He forgot to breathe, and it all went a bit blurry, and then suddenly he was panting and looking down at Ginny, watching him hotly, her hands half-way up his stomach under his shirt and his own hands disentangling themselves from her hair.

He looked down for several long, soft seconds, watching the light shift across Ginny's hazel eyes. Out of nowhere, her hand came up and smacked him in the side of his face, stinging. He ducked away, putting his hand over his cheek, glaring at Ginny.

She was smiling. She looked deliciously vicious.

"That was for making assumptions about how I feel," she said coolly.

Draco rubbed the side of his face, breathing raggedly. Ginny softly pulled his hand away and replaced it with her own. Reaching up, she pulled his mouth down over hers.

When she pulled away, Draco looked utterly bewildered.

"And that? What was that for?" he asked, the tone of his voice suggesting that his cheek, and his pride, were still stinging.

"That was for your assumptions being correct," she replied, kissing him again.

Minutes later, she smiled slightly, then smirked and shrugged. "Well. I guess Malfoys really do get what they want."

Draco smirked as well.

"And the reason for your resistance now seems completely inadequate, I would assume."

She grinned. "Oh yeah, utterly ridiculous." She paused again. "I quite like being a little bit vulnerable. Sometimes."

Draco grinned too. "I know. It has its advantages, doesn't it? I think I've been converted, you know, I'm now a solid supporter of all things weak and needy."

Ginny reached up and kissed him gently, solidly on the mouth, pulling back reluctantly moments later. "Absolutely."

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_Oh my word, that's the end. I really can't believe it. Anyways, thanks to all who helped, especially Zan, who was a Godsend. I will be starting a new story soon, right after I think one up. All the best, Vickalo999._


	14. The Crusade Extract

_Yes, I know - you all thought that _Conversion_ was dead and buried, true? Well no, it's back, due to popular demand:_ Conversion, Part II_, otherwise known as_ the Crusade_. Here's a quick extract to whet the old tastebuds, so tell me what you think and then hop over to my author page and take a good look at the other parts! Cheers!_

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The Crusade – Glass Walls (Extract) **

Cool autumnal light of mauve and peach fell calmly through one of the high stained glass windows into Hogwarts library, hitting the back of Ginny's neck and casting her shadow across the table. Cocooned at the end of one of the rows of shelves with Harry, Ron and Hermione, her fingers restlessly plied the pages of large, heavy volume – gilt-edged and gold-rimmed pages, decorated with massive coloured drawings that swam with movement. Her back was burning from the fire smouldering behind her at the end of the row, encouraged by the woollen jumper she was wearing. Her mind, however, was nowhere near the hot library, but was corridors away in a far distant Charms lesson.

Ginny gazed softly at the picture before her. It depicted a scene in which a great golden dragon was flying – with unfathomable lightness and grace - amongst snow-covered mountain tops, breaking through lazily furling cloud and into patches of bright, warm sunlight. Its painted scales glistened magnificently, and Ginny felt herself slipping away from her seat and into its realm. No matter how hard so tried to concentrate on what the words on the opposite page said, all she could do was blindly take in the patterns of the dragon's movement, and think about that classroom, three floors away, where she could see Draco in her mind's eye. Right now, either he'd be drumming his fingers impatiently on his desk, trying to make the lesson end faster, or else sitting at the front steeped in concentration the likes of which she could only hope to gain, in the hopes of avoiding confrontation with his new Slytherin enemies.

Since the scandal they had created weeks before at the Halloween Ball, Draco had been hounded by the Slytherins. Questions of what in hell he was doing plagued him everywhere he went in Hogwarts and beyond, and subtle ploys, provocations and plots that would be injurious to him were growing in frequency and severity – during the most recent excursion to Hogsmeade, he'd apparently had an un-hatched Doxy egg scrumptiously hidden in his bag by some unknown assailant. Once he'd returned, he'd almost been expelled for trying to sneak it into the castle. Luckily, as McGonagall had no proof he'd deliberately tried to smuggle it in, there was little she could do without evidence.

Whenever Ginny spoke to Draco about this though, he of course denied that these instances were troubling him. He always professed that to be able to know Ginny in the open was enough to make up for it, but Ginny could see quite plainly that he was getting continually more tired and hacked-off with these events. She didn't mention this, or at least, she hadn't yet. She knew she would have to talk to someone about it sooner or later, though, for fear of Draco's safety.

As of yet, their romantic association remained a heavily guarded secret. So heavily guarded, in fact, that nobody knew about it. As Ginny felt it wise not to mention Draco in public, and especially not to Harry, Ron and Hermione, they assumed that she had lost her interest in him, and that her one slip-up at the Ball had been purely to dismay and alarm. This wasn't true, obviously – she cared for Draco as fervently as she ever had – but admittance of this she knew wouldn't sit well with them.

When she'd returned from the funeral, after insuring Ron, Harry and Hermione wouldn't miss her presence for the few days she was absent, she and Draco had decided that keeping everything quiet would be safer for both. Ginny said it was because she didn't want the Slytherin's messing things up. Draco said it was because he didn't want Ron spontaneously combusting.

This hadn't perturbed the Slytherins. They were either still convinced that there was something going on, or Draco had alienated himself so completely that even if there wasn't, he couldn't retain a dominant place in Slytherin ranks. On the other hand, he was spending so much lesson time concentrating on his actual work that his grades now exceeded most in the years', excepting Hermione's.

"Found anything yet, Gin?" Ron asked, rousing her from her thoughts. She glanced at the page, flicked a couple over in what she hoped was a frustrated manner, and sighed.

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_For the full chapter, and the continued story of Draco and Ginny, visit my _Crusade_ story. And I need a spare beta-tester for this story a.s.a.p. - anyone? Oh, and sorry for mistakes - this is read-through but un-beta-ed._


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